


Self Determination

by appending_fic



Series: Self Determination [1]
Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Mentor, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Eli Has No Sense of Self Preservation, Eliminationalist Language, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manipulation, Mistaken Identity, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Nightmares, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teenage Drama, War, genocide mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-05 10:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15168599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: Centuries ago, the great wizard Merlin created the Amulet of Daylight to empower his chosen champion - the Trollhunter - to fight against Gunmar and his army of Gumm-Gumms.No troll, however, was willing to be dragged further into human wizards' machinations, and the Amulet went to a human.Now, Blinky and Aaarrrgghh struggle to build a consensus between Trollhunter and the fundamentalist Knights of the Eclipse,  believing unity between human and troll the only way to defeat Bular, and in turn, his father.Jim Lake Jr. doesn't know any of this when the Amulet of Daylight chooses him to be the next Trollhunter. Eli Pepperjack doesn't know any of this when he begins collecting evidence of the Creepers plaguing his hometown. The children who in another world would be the Trollhunters become something else in this world. The trolls who in another world would be the Trollhunters' friends and foes alike find a different destiny.





	1. You're Going to Need a Better Trollhunter

**Author's Note:**

> This is happening, apparently. As noted the general idea of this AU is that the Trollhunters have been human through the centuries, and consequently, the trolls have their *own* defenders. A lot of other stuff is going down in the guts of this, but that's the basics. Hope you enjoy, and stick around for more.

For all of Merlin's flaws (and he had many flaws), Kanjigar mused, he had been very clever, which just about made up for everything else he'd done wrong.

Living crystal was the most magically reactive substance in the known world. It took on the properties of its surroundings, stored almost energy it was exposed to. But it took ages to craft tools that could channel that energy effectively.

Wizards had a talent for channeling such energies. But few had the intelligence or patience for such study.

Merlin, who had wanted a warrior capable of adapting their talents to whatever threat they encountered, had found the neatest solution to the problem.

A tool made from a _part_ of a wizard could channel the power of living crystal, allow an untrained user to access the power of any fragments they placed within.

Which is why Kanjigar possessed an armband forged from the ribs of a 14th-century alchemist who'd believed troll bones were integral to the process of transmuting lead to gold. It was the prize of his family, capable of holding two shards of living crystal. He himself possessed six such shards, though he favored the Stone of Sharpness and the Swiftgem.

Both of which he was glad to have now, as he battled Bular within the bridge that concealed the path to Trollmarket. He was uncertain if the Gumm-Gumm truly knew this was the entrance to his enemies' home, but he could not take that chance.

Also, Bular was enemy to all trolls, right-thinking or otherwise.

Kanjigar ducked a swing of Bular's blades, darted in for a quick swipe of his own, drawing a line of violet blood before he was forced to retreat or risk being skewered by the twin swords.

"You will meet your end here, Bular," Kanjigar growled, stabbing in and slicing along Bular's forearm. Bular knocked the blade aside, nicking Kanjigar's ear with the other one, stinging as he drew blood.

"I have survived you, your father, and your father's father. I have faced the greatest champions of the trollish race, and slain a score of Trollhunters in the last century alone! I will not meet my end at _your_ hand."

"Then it is by Daylight's edge you will die!"

Kanjigar bit back a curse, fell away as a blur of silver, reflecting the growing light of day, cut in between him and Bular. The fleshbag pressed forward, forcing Bular back with a series of rapid swings of his sword.

Nevertheless, Kanjigar felt irritation well up in his chest, because the Trollhunter was the _last_ thing he needed. Because when he took a step toward the battle, the Trollhunter (he'd stopped learning their names; they didn't bother calling _him_ anything other than 'troll', and didn't tend to last long enough for it to matter) half-turned, pointing his blade at Kanjigar.

"Stay out of this!"

Kanjigar snarled and dodged around to Bular's rear, using the other troll's distraction to try a feint and stab at Bular's calves. Bular's two blades, however, proved not for show, as he caught Kanjigar's blade while also holding off the Trollhunter.

"Get out of here!" Kanjigar snapped. "You don't want to end up like the last three Trollhunters!"

Bular sprang up, catching a hold on the ceiling; Kanjigar and the Trollhunter stumbled into one another, blades clashing before Kanjigar spun, pushing the Trollhunter aside. The man grunted and caught himself at the edge of the bridge, where daylight was already starting to gather. He needed this done _soon_.

"You think you can fight out here?" the Trollhunter yelled. "It's almost dawn!"

"You think you can fight out here?" Kanjigar retorted. "You're a fleshbag trained by an overgrown pigeon!"

Bular slammed into the Trollhunter, picked him up and hurled him at Kanjigar in one smooth motion. The force of the throw (not the weight) sent Kanjigar back, nearly to the edge of the enroaching daylight. As much as Kanjigar hated to admit it, the Trollhunter had a point. But giving up _now_ went against everything the Eclipse Knights stood for. Kanjigar tossed the Trollhunter aside, launching himself at Bular, sword raised. Bular parried easily, made a stab that would have pierced Kanjigar's heart had he not had the supernatural speed granted by the Swiftgem. Regardless, it cut his stomach open, a sharp pain that would have dropped a frailer warrior, though blood pooled under his feet as he drew back, swinging his sword around for a retaliatory cut.

Bular hopped away, moving around faster than Kanjigar could follow, and then he was facing the Trollhunter, rising slowly to his feet.

"If you value your skin, fleshbag, _go_."

" _Never_ ," the Trollhunter grunted. "By my oath-"

"An oath to a selfish, interfering busybody!" Kanjigar roared. "At least the Knights _stand_ for something."

The Trollhunter looked up at Kanjigar, eyes narrowing, and then lunged, Daylight held high.

So they were doing it _this way_. Kanjigar twisted, stabbed, and impaled the Trollhunter as he entered Kanjigar's reach.

Only for two blades to burst from Kanjigar's chest, one through a lung, and the other…

His heart ached, probably because of the sword in it. "Your little feud with the Trollhunter was always so...useful," Bular whispered into Kanjigar's ear. 

This was probably the worst way to go, stabbing a man who was just trying to protect you from your mutual enemy. The only upside, Kanjigar thought as Bular shoved him off the blade, sending Kanjigar and the dying Trollhunter from the bridge into the sunlight, and down toward the canals below, was that he wouldn't have to put up with one of Galadrigal's insufferable lectures about troll-human cooperation when the news about this got out.


	2. The New Trollhunter

"Come on, Jimbo, we don't wanna take the _canals_."

"You want to be late?" Response delivered, Jim Lake Jr. took the sharp turn that would take them into the canals. Behind him, Toby groaned but followed, pedaling desperately to keep up. The canals _were_ the fastest way to school, and probably the only way to make it on time. And Jim _liked_ the canals. The waterways and bridge filled him with a sense of possibility, of… _liminality_ (he was grateful for the book that had taught him that word, which sounded magical all on its own). Anything could happen in the canals; in fact, it looked like something had. Jim turned, coming to a halt near the pile of rocks underneath the bridge and glanced up to find the section of bridge that had collapsed. There was nothing there, except, within the shadows of the bridge itself, something gleaming in the dark-

"Jimbo." Jim looked back to Toby, who was staring, horrified, at the pile of rubble.

"What? It fell off one of the bridge's decorations or something-"

"Not talking about the rocks, Jimbo. There's a _guy_ here."

There _was_ , in fact, a man buried under the rubble, pale, dark-haired, green eyes wide but unmoving, body slack, and almost certainly dead. Jim's mother didn't like talking about the part of her job that ended with dead bodies (obliquely referring to 'hard days'), so he was hardly prepared for the sight, which seemed slightly unreal.

"Jim? Jimbo, we gotta do something."

"I don't think CPR's gonna help, Tobes." Jim's voice came out high, and his breath escaped in a helpless giggle.

"Jim?"

Jim just shook his head, unable to form a coherent response. He didn't recognize the man, but he couldn't help but feel...connected to him, somehow. He heard Toby talking behind him - 911, maybe, and Jim was pretty sure they were going to be late for school, now.

The police showed up, which added another hour to the process, because Jim's mother had made it clear he didn't talk to the police without her, or another parent, with him.In the end, she drove them to school, the ride mostly quiet, except for her asking if Jim wanted to stay home.

"It's perfectly understandable, given the circumstances."

Jim shook his head. "I'm _fine_ , Mom."

"It's not like we _saw_ him die," Toby piped up from the back seat. "And most of him was under the rubble, so it's not like it was, like, bloody or gory."

"Still," Jim's mother allowed. "If you felt confused, or upset-"

"I just want to forget about it," Jim replied. They pulled up to the school, and he was unbuckling his seatbelt when his mother pulled him into a hug, tight, desperate. He squeezed back, enjoying the moment of warmth before she pulled away. His mother was looking at him gently, eyes soft, a little wet.

"I love you, sweetie. Be safe."

"I will, Mom." It shouldn't be hard; Arcadia Oaks hadn't weathered anything more exciting than the occasional blizzard for decades. And Jim's next class was history, and as much as he liked Mr. Strickler, he was about as dangerous as _Toby_.

"History, they say, is written by the victors. Most people believe this statement to refer exclusively to wars, but it is true in any conflict - physical, religious, cultural. The grievances of those who rail against the injustice of the majority will be couched in terms of mental illness, ungratefulness, pure bloody-mindedness. Those who can be, will be swept under the rug, their achievements dismissed or stolen, their existence ignored. We will be spending much of the next few months exploring some of those untold histories, and you will, by winter break, submit a five-page paper exploring one such group." There was a collective groan, to which Mr. Strickler tsked, shaking his head. "Anyone who would prefer to take an essay examination at the end of the semester is welcome to." That effectively put an end to the protests, but as the students gathered up to leave, there was still a mutinous tone to their chatter.

Staring out of the window, Jim had no more than half-heard much of what Mr. Strickler said. The dead body...preyed on him. It wasn't like he didn't know people died, or even that _he'd_ die. He wasn't even certain he was _worried_. What he did have was a sense of...déja vu? Or like he was _meant_ to be there. It was creepier than the body had been, to be honest.

"Mr. Lake?"

Jim startled, sitting up hurriedly at Mr. Strickler's voice. The man gave him a gentle smile, something like his mother's earlier. "Are you quite all right?"

"I…" The word 'fine' was on Jim's tongue, but he obviously wasn't. "Not really."

"Would you like to discuss it?"

Jim was already starting to shake his head when Strickler laid a hand on his desk, tilting his head at Jim.

"There's no need to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders, Young Atlas. Come. I'll make you some tea."

Settled in Strickler's office, holding a cup of tea, Jim felt a little less creeped out, but he doubted he would get out of the office before sharing _something_.

"Toby and I found a dead body down in the canals."

Strickler glanced up from his own cup, eyes narrow. "Ah. That can be quite upsetting when one is unprepared."

"I guess. I just…" Jim shrugged. "I told my mom I'm fine, but I think I'm freaking out. What do you call it when you see a body and then you feel like...it's you? Or you're it?"

Strickler sighed and set his cup down. "It sounds very much like you are confronting your own mortality, Young Atlas. It is disconcerting for a grown man, so I would suspect it is doubly so for a child - a teenager, who are frequently said to believe they are immortal."

"I don't-"

"It is a metaphorical statement, Young Atlas. One to encompass the only abstract understanding of death most youth possess. To see for yourself something you were of only distantly aware. I wish I could simply advise you to put it from your mind, but it is neither possible nor advisable. Awareness of your death - not _fear_ , but respect for your mortality - is a healthy attitude. It teaches appropriate caution, and appreciation for what you risk when you make foolish decisions."

Jim nodded, slowly. It didn't make him feel better, but from what Strickler was saying, it wasn't intended to.

"I _would_ advise you not to let thoughts of it loom too large in your mind. If you are still preoccupied tomorrow, there are some books I might recommend that may help. Now, I think you have another class to get to."

Despite Strickler's talk, Jim _was_ preoccupied through most of the day. _Toby_ seemed fine, which was probably for the best; Jim wasn't certain how he could deal with a death-obsessed Toby. He begged off meeting with Toby after school, intending to go home and cook his feelings.

Halfway through making the apple pie he'd decided was the best way to deal with a newfound sense of mortality, Jim heard a rapping at the kitchen window. When he looked up, there was a fat brown owl on the other side of the glass, glaring through the window at him. When Jim didn't move, the owl tapped at the glass with their talons and let out an irritated hoot.

Jim edged closer to the window, trying to remember if owls could be rabid.

"Whoo!" The owl repeated. Jim, an arm's-length from the window, paused. The owl was still glaring.

So.

Jim had two options.

He could keep making his pie, pretend this wasn't happening.

Or he could act like he was Harry Potter and let the owl in.

The owl squeezed through the window the moment Jim opened it wide enough. The creature fluttered to the edge of the kitchen counter before turning, glaring at him.

"Has anyone told you it's terrible rude to leave someone waiting outside your house once they've announced themselves?" Jim dropped his knife in shock; it nearly fell through his foot, but he didn't notice because _an owl was talking to him_.

Maybe Jim was losing his mind; Strickler had said realizing his mortality was stressful, so this being like, a psychotic break wasn't impossible.

"Helloooo!" The owl waved a wing in Jim's face; he yelped and jerked away, and might have skewered the owl if he'd still been holding a knife. "Well!" the owl huffed. "If I'd known to expect a welcome this poor, I might not have bothered."

"Isn't it rude to come in people's houses without asking?" Jim demanded.

The owl paused, twisting their head around, before ruffling their feathers, looking a little sheepish. "Well. Yes. I suppose. But it was _imperative_ I get under cover before dark, which I think excuses a little rudeness."

"You're a talking owl."

The owl sighed, brushing their wing across their forehead. "I'd hoped you might be _marginally_ intelligent, but apparently even _that_ is too much to hope for."

Jim bristled and pointed at the owl. "If you're going to be a jerk, you can get _out_."

"Wait! No no no!" The owl fluttered out of reach, perching on top of the refrigerator. "I am here for _you_ , young man! To impart upon you the secret of your _destiny_!" The paused, peering at Jim. "That is, if you _are_ James Lake."

"Jim."

"Yes, yes," the owl said distractedly, "I can call you whatever you like, if you can confirm you are James Lake."

"What do you mean about destiny?" The owl glared, and Jim realized he wasn't getting any more answers until he gave one. " _Yes_ , my name is _Jim_ Lake."

"Good! _I_...am Archimedes."

Jim had a moment to consider. "You mean like the philosopher?"

"Hmph!" The owl, Archimedes, bristled. "That pompous old fool wished he were _half_ as wise as I am. I was - or am - a familiar, companion and assistant to a powerful wizard. _Merlin_ , as it were, which brings us to my reason for being here."

"When you say Merlin…"

"Shh!" Archimedes commanded. "You can ask all the questions you want when we're done." They produced a strange medallion, silver with curling metalwork and a gleaming gem within, like dawn against a blue sky. "Here." They swept back down, dropping the amulet into Jim's hand. "Now," they said, landing next to Jim, "I need you to repeat after me-"

"What? Why?"

"To embrace your _destiny_ ," Archimedes repeated, slowly. "To combat the forces of darkness for the good of all mankind. That's the sort of thing every human dreams of, right?"

As early as this morning, Jim's answer would have been an unthinking 'yes', but Strickler's words from that afternoon stayed with him.

_It teaches appropriate caution, and appreciation for what you risk when you make foolish decisions…_

"Come on," Archimedes prompted. "What are you waiting for? Sitting around wasting time isn't going to help anyone, and will almost _certainly_ hasten the demise of everyone you love."

" _What_?" Jim's blood went cold, jumping to thoughts of his mother, Toby- "Are you _threatening_ me?" The thought of an owl being a serious threat was ludicrous, but a _talking_ owl could be _anything_.

"What? Of course not! I speak of Gunmar, the Black, the scourge of the Darklands and most vicious troll ever to live. Unchecked, he and his army of Gumm-Gumms would ravage the surface lands and bring an end to the age of Man."

"Gumm-Gumms?" Jim couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. "Like gummy bears?"

Archimedes gave Jim a stern look, an exceedingly odd expression to see on an owl. "Translated from trollish, the word means 'bringer of horrible, slow, painful, and thoroughly-calculated death'."

Jim swallowed nervously. "Oh. And what do you want me to do about it?"

"Accept the Amulet of Daylight and become the Trollhunter!"

"Troll...hunter?"

"Yes, yes, yes, come on, repeat after me-"

"Just give me a second," Jim snapped. "So what, you expect me to kill Gunmar and his Gumm-Gumms?"

" _You_? I sincerely doubt it. But it is Merlin's will that you be the next Trollhunter, so there is likely some good you will do with your time."

It sounded dangerous. It sounded stupid. It sounded _absurd_. But the thought of anything happening to Toby, to his _mother_ , filled Jim with...well, it made him want to hit someone.

"Fine. What do I have to do?"

"Hold the amulet in one hand and repeat after me. I, James Lake, accept the sacred charge of the Amulet of Daylight, to vanquish all the forces of darkness, for the good of mankind and for the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command!"

Jim nodded and took a deep breath. "I, James Lake Jr., accept the sacred charge of the Amulet of Daylight, to vanquish all the forces of darkness, for the good of mankind and for the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command!"

Light gathered around Jim, almost blinding as he was lifted into the air. He fell a moment later, hitting the ground more heavily than he was used to. Shifting, Jim discovered two things. First, he moved slowly, as he was wearing heavy armor that looked like it was made of silver; the armor was snug, but not too tight, which seemed unlikely. The second discovery was that there was a _sword in his hand_ , a long, slightly curved blade that gleamed from within with the soft light of dawn. Jim turned the blade, raising it so he could examine it - he wasn't sure if it was made of metal or crystal.

"What _is_ this?"

"The sword is Daylight, a weapon forged from sunlight to slay trolls and creatures of the dark. The armor is - wait, what did you say?"

"I asked what the sword was."

"No." Archimedes hopped forward, waving one of their wings at Jim. "I meant _before_ that, during your oath. I told you to repeat after me, and you changed it. I said to say, 'I, James Lake'-"

"I thought it was one of those 'insert-name-here' deals," Jim replied. "And my name's-"

"James Lake _Junior_ ," Archimedes wailed. "Oh dear, oh me, this is _terrible_!"

"Hey, _you're_ the one who insisted I take the oath."

"Oh, but that was when I thought you were James _Lake_! I should have realized - the Amulet has never chosen anyone so _young_ before! If Merlin were here, he'd be _furious_!"

"Well, if you wanted my dad, take the amulet back and go find _him_ , wherever he is!"

Archimedes, though, was fluttering around Jim's head, hooting anxiously. "I can't _do_ that! Trollhunting is a job for _life_!"

Jim felt a twist in his chest, a flare of anxiety. "What do you mean, _life_?"

"I mean that no matter who the Amulet _wanted_ , _you're_ stuck with it."

Jim snapped a hand out and plucked Archimedes out of the air, holding the struggling owl in one hand as he turned them around so he could look them right in the eye. "You didn't _say_ that," Jim growled, low in his chest.

Archimedes flapped desperately, but Jim kept his grip. "Did you think I was asking you to fight evil until you got _bored of it_? It should have been perfectly clear that-"

Jim shook Archimedes until they shut up. "How about you explain this whole thing to me, starting from the beginning? Before I decide to leave _you_ to whoever was making you scared to be out after dark?"

\---

"Draal, of course, will take up his father's mantle. The Eclipse Knights will ever have a presence in Trollmarket."

Bular snorted, dismissive, before twisting into a familiar combat form, a few strikes he'd learned when he was still a whelp. "And what of the Trollhunter?"

A pause. A breath. "That old pigeon's smarter than he looks. He's sure to suspect we're up to something in Arcadia; he won't take the amulet far. Though he was quick about it. One of my students ran across the body, didn't mention anything like the Amulet of Daylight."

Bular turned to Stricklander, the changeling in his human guise, hands pressed together as he paced the mostly-empty museum hall. "Come on, you've lived among the fleshbags here long enough; you must know who the old pigeon might believe strong enough to face _me_."

"Oh, no human in Arcadia is powerful enough to face _you_ , my lord. But someone strong, driven, who cares deeply for their fellow man…" At Bular's grunt, Stricklander shrugged. "Whether you believe it a weakness or not, Merlin valued such a trait in his champions."

"Well?" Bular demanded.

"None come to mind, my lord. But as you so eloquently reminded me, I _do_ live among the 'fleshbags'. I will keep my eyes and ears open."

Bular grinned. "Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot remember where I saw the fanon that Merlin intended the amulet to choose James Lake Sr., but this is my tribute to whoever you are.


	3. Terms and Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets the explanation he demanded. He...does not take it well.

The whole story, as it turned out, was a _lot_ worse than Archimedes had made it seem. Gunmar and his army of Gumm-Gumms, while _technically_ trapped within the Darklands, had an ally in Gunmar's son, Bular the Vicious, who worked tirelessly to wreak havoc within the realms of trolls _and_ humans, and to free his father from his prison.

Bular had under his belt _dozens_ of confirmed kills, both of past Trollhunters and good trolls who stood against him and his father, not to mention whatever humans he'd feasted on in the years he'd walked the surface.

Having accepted the Amulet, Jim was thrust in the middle of this fight, and would be there until he _died_ , making his choices spending the rest of his life hiding, as Bular could make great use of the Amulet of the Sun - a weapon made of sunlight would make him even _more_ of a threat than he already was - or taking up the fight until he was killed.

Jim had locked himself in his room, ignoring Archimedes' frantic pounding until the owl decided to leave him alone. He sighed, dropped his head into his hands, biting back an angry shout when he realized he was still wearing the armor, the gauntlet cool against his skin. He'd probably need Archimedes' help to get it off again, which meant he was stuck in this until he felt like actually _talking_ to the lying little bird.

He reached over to his phone, considering texting Toby, but reconsidered when he realized there was nothing he could say.

Well, there _was_ , but convincing Toby the _talking owl_ was real would be hard enough without bringing in the magical armor and the existence of _trolls_ (and goblins, and some things too terrible to mention).

And what would his _mom_ say? She was worried Jim was pushing himself when he made her _lunch_.

Oh god, he was _Spiderman_. He couldn't let his mom know, couldn't risk asking out anyone even if he worked up the courage to do so, and-

_What if Bular found out where he lived?_

Jim's breaths were coming in shallow gasps, chest tight. He had to get this armor off because he couldn't _breathe_ , but that stupid owl hadn't said anything about _that_!

"How the fuck do you take this _off_?" he demanded of, he didn't know, Merlin or someone. No one answered; Archimedes had, apparently, agreed Jim needed time to cool off, ironically leaving Jim alone when he needed someone _there_.

_Fuck_. Jim grabbed at his phone, tapped at it, listened to it ring-

"Hey, Jimbo, what's-"

"Get over here," Jim gasped. " _Please_."

"Jim? Are you o-"

"I'm _fine_. Just-" Jim fumbled his phone, grabbing ineffectively at it as his chest tightened. Toby didn't answer, or Jim couldn't hear it, at least until he heard banging at his door.

"Jim? Jimbo? Buddy, if you can hear me, can you open the door? Because otherwise I gotta decide between battering it down and going in through the window, and-"

" _Fosgail mor_." The lock to Jim's bedroom door clicked, and the door swung open slowly. There was Archimedes, posture conveying smugness his face couldn't, and behind him, Toby, staring down at the owl, eyes wide.

"Jim? What's with the talking wildlife? And _where_ did you get that sweet _sword_?"

"Tobes? I'm not - in the mood right now."

"Oh, hey." Toby was suddenly next to Jim, one arm around his shoulders. He pulled Jim's head down to rest on his shoulder. The warmth, the steady beat of Toby's heart, made for a calming counterpoint to Jim's panic. Two beats, three, to Jim's dozen or so before he risked a breath, slow, finding it came deeper than he'd expected. Breathing came easier, eventually, and his heart slowed, and then it was just him and Toby sitting on the floor of his bedroom.

"So. Are we ready to talk about the sword?" A beat of silence. "Or the owl? Give me _one_ and I'll go away happy, dude."

"The owl's Archimedes. He's Merlin's, whatever, familiar. I've been enlisted."

"Enlisted?" Toby raised one eyebrow, curious. "To do what?"

"To combat the forces of darkness," Archimedes sniped. "And I resent the implication I did anything untoward. You _agreed_ -"

"I was _shanghaied_ ," Jim corrected, letting his head fall back against his bed. "Tricked. And _this_ guy, _this guy_ \- acting like this is part of some big plan - _fucked up_! Because they don't want _me_ for their saving-the-world job. They want my _dad_ , but this is some sort of 'no returns' situation."

Toby shifted next to Jim, twisted around for a two-armed hug, tight. "Dude? You gotta talk sense, here, because I'm not following you."

Jim was on his feet; he didn't remember standing, but Archimedes was backed against the wall of the hallway, eyes wide. Toby wasn't far, but his hand was on Jim's wrist, keeping Jim from raising Daylight. "Jimbo?"

Jim sat back on his bed, his furious energy draining from him in a rush. Daylight vanished from his hand. Toby dropped down next to him, one hand on his back. "Buddy-"

"He said my mom was going to die if I didn't agree to hunt trolls - _bad_ trolls - and didn't tell me it's a job for _life_. And then he found out about thirty seconds too late I'm not the James Lake he was looking for."

Toby gave Archimedes a sharp look. "Dude, _not cool_." Jim laughed, aware his voice was still shaky.

"You must understand," Archimedes retorted, "the world _cannot_ be without a Trollhunter, even if it is a...child." He ducked in a little on himself, before straightening back up. "If Gunmar were ever to escape the Darklands, humanity would be all but doomed! The Trollhunter is the last line of defense against that return."

Jim took a shaky breath, but waved away Toby's worried look. He wasn't, you know, _good_ , but he didn't feel like he was about to have another panic attack. "So how am I supposed to fight Gunmar? Does this sword make me a master duelist or something?"

"Oh. Uh. No. Usually, the amulet chooses someone already skilled in the blade." Jim filed that tidbit away, because his father had never given any indication of knowing how to swordfight when he was _around_.

"Then you've got a dojo somewhere you can train Jim in the secret art of the Trollhunter!" Toby declared, bouncing a little in place.

Archimedes gave Toby a withering, narrow glare. "Where would I keep a dojo?"

"I don't know, a pocket dimension somewhere?"

Archimedes snapped his beak, irritated. "That's _shadow magic_ , slipping between space, and Merlin was always quite against it."

"You don't know how to do it," Jim concluded; Archimedes huffed, but didn't refute it. Jim sighed and slumped against Toby. "Can you at least tell me how to take the armor _off_?"

"Ah. That. Although you may call the armor through the invocation, 'For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command', it is primarily an _empathic_ device, and responds to your need for it. To dismiss it, you must find a moment of calm, of safety, and will it away, as simple as that."

Two hours later, Jim was getting desperate. His mom was supposed to be home within the half-hour, and the armor stubbornly refused to go away. Archimedes was _no_ help, reminding Jim at irregular intervals it was _easy_. Toby, for his part, was _trying_ , making Jim tea and playing soothing music on his phone, but Jim couldn't quash his anxiety in the face of fighting dangerous trolls for the rest of his life, hiding this _from his mother_ , and now dragging _Toby_ into it.

It wasn't a fate he'd wish on his worst enemy, who he guessed now was Gunmar the Black.

"Would a hug help?"

"I doubt it."

"But we don't know until we try." Toby latched onto Jim, a tight hug that bordered on constricting. Jim felt guilty, sometimes, how he considered _Toby_ his most grounding influence. He understood his mom had to work insane hours to support him, to support _both_ of them, but it meant he was never certain he could reach her, that he wouldn't pull her away from something important for the sake of _his_ problems. _Toby_ , though, had made it clear he'd happily drop anything to help Jim out, and that was...well, grounding.

Not calming, unfortunately, as the thought of Toby's importance sent Jim into a spiral of wondering what would happen if he lost Toby, if Bular, if Gunmar-

His panic gave way to anger, of which his first reaction on hearing Archimedes suggest the Gumm-Gumms could hurt Toby, could hurt Jim's _mother_ proved a pale reflection. He clenched his fists; were his gauntlets not made of some sturdy cloth, he suspected he might have gouged his nails into his palms. He must have tensed, because next to Jim, Toby pulled away.

"Jimbo?"

Not afraid, but...cautious. Worried. And something settled over Jim's anger.

Not peace. But calm, of a sort. Determination. A thought.

He wouldn't _let_ it happen. Wouldn't let Toby get hurt. Wouldn't let his mother get hurt. Wouldn't let Gunmar escape the Darklands.

The flare of light was briefer, and less bright, and then Jim was sitting on his bed, back in his jeans and worn T-shirt. The amulet fell from his chest into his hand, slightly warm to the touch.

"Jimbo!" That got another hug, which Jim weathered slightly more easily now that he wasn't clad in _panic-fueled armor_.

And then Archimedes hopped in to ruin the moment, fluttering around Jim's head. "Well _done_ , Trollhunter!"

"Well _done_? It took me _two hours_ to figure out how to take this armor _off_! Unless _you're_ a master swordsman, the chances of me learning how to _fight_ with it before Bular, or whoever, kills me, is next to _nothing_!"

"...I was _trying_ to bolster your confidence by highlighting your _successes_ , but if you're just going to _panic_ -"

"Wait." Jim grabbed Archimedes out of the air; the owl flinched, but Jim settled Archimedes on his bed. "You said I had to face Gunmar and his army. Are there trolls who _aren't_ a part of his army? Someone who could train me?"

"No," Archimedes said quickly. He paused, thinking, before shaking his head. " _Definitely_ not."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Well, master swordsman or not, I _am_ a scholar. Give me ten minutes with a computer and a credit card, and I will acquire everything I need to teach you to rival Fiore dei Liberi himself!"

"How about you get me a list of books I can get from the library?"

Archimedes ruffled his feathers, glowering. "If you think only rivaling _Sasaki Kojiro_ will be enough, I _suppose_."

" _Anything's_ better than where I am now. Do you think you can be quiet up here? Mom's been down on the whole 'dog' question, but I haven't sounded her out about birds yet."

"Wait - are you insinuating I am some sort of _pet_?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "We can pretend you're my pet owl, or _you_ can explain to my mom about Merlin and about how you tricked a fifteen-year-old into risking his life for your stupid troll war."

"It's not _my_ -"

"Not gonna make a difference when she's trying to figure out how to pop that little head from your body. So, which is it going to be: pretending to be a pet owl, or explaining yourself to my mom?"

Ten minutes later, Archimedes, who was probably _still_ grumbling about the indignity of pretending to be someone's pet for the sake of the Trollhunter, was upstairs researching what books Jim could get from the Arcadia Oaks library and, hopefully, Youtube tutorials. Toby was helping Jim salvage the pie and get started on dinner, after Jim decided he'd earned a night off from Spanish homework.

"You okay, Jimbo?"

It was the sixth time Toby had asked him, but Jim tried not to sigh. Toby had good reason to worry, and anyway Jim had been running the question through his head on a loop for the last hour and a half himself.

"I don't know. This isn't - Gun Robot! Archimedes expects me to fight this Bular guy, and he hasn't said so right out, but I'm _pretty sure_ Bular killed the _last_ Trollhunter!" Jim diced an onion expertly with a few angry swipes,glowering at the onion pieces when that didn't make him feel better. "This would be bad enough if I was _supposed_ to be the Trollhunter, but Archimedes said it was supposed to go to my _dad_." Jim felt tears gathering at his eyes; he turned to the sink to wash his eyes, hoping he could pass it off as onion tears. "I'm not _destined_ to do it. Archimedes doesn't think I _can_. And if _he_ doesn't think so...how am _I_ supposed to?"

This was apparently a huggy day, because Toby grabbed Jim from behind, another _almost_ constricting hug, until Jim felt his racing heart slow a tick.

"Look. I don't know what all this is going to be like. What sort of monsters you're going to have to fight. But Archimedes is a - a _butthead_ if he doesn't think you can do it. _I_ believe you can do it. If she knew about it, _your mom_ would believe you could."

"Toby-"

"So if you can't believe in yourself...believe in _us_ , at least. That we're smart enough to put our faith in the right guy."

Jim huffed out; he couldn't quite manage to make it a laugh, but Toby squeezed once and backed away, so he must have thought it was good enough. Jim turned, grinning helplessly at Toby, glad in whatever panicked state he'd been in, he'd decided to reach out to Toby. He wasn't certain he could have done this alone.

"Come on, let's finish dinner. You're staying, right?"

"Of _course_ ; I just have to call my Nana."

Dinner was...nice. Jim's mom accepted Toby's presence without much comment, but kept giving Jim lingering looks. He didn't know _what_ she was picking up on, but decided some classic misdirection would serve him well.

"Mom? On the way home from school I found a bird on the sidewalk. He's...acts really tame; I think someone abandoned him out there. Do you think it's okay if I kept him?"

She narrowed her eyes, more thoughtful than dismissive. "What kind of bird?"

"An owl?"

Jim's mom stared a few moments longer; at long last, she nodded. "I suppose. But _you're_ keeping him stocked in dead mice, alright?"

"Yes, thanks, Mom!"

"You know, your father used to keep birds. If you check up in the attic, you might find a spare perch or something."

"I'll do that."

There was a moment of quiet. "Was _that_ why you've been acting nervous all evening?"

"Oh! Yeah. Worried about little Archimedes." It wasn't a lie; _technically_ , making sure Archimedes was close at hand _was_ one of Jim's worries.

"It must have, if you've named him already."

"Heh heh. Yeah."

"Well come on, let me meet the little guy!"

"Oh. Right!" Jim was certain the way he bolted upstairs wasn't strictly normal, but he was too relieved to care. Archimedes was glaring critically at a Youtube video where a guy was spinning in arcs with a-

"That's not even a real lightsaber, and people make _fun_ of that guy."

"Hmph. I _thought_ , but you never _can_ be too sure. A truly effective combat style contains an element of unpredictability, and I _certainly_ didn't expect this."

"Look, my mom's letting you stay, but she wants to meet you."

Archimedes perked up. " _Really_?"

"Calm down; she thinks you're a normal owl." Archimedes sank down a little; Jim grabbed him when Archimedes made no attempt to move, and settled him in the crook of his arm. "You eat like mice and stuff, right?"

" _Heavens_ , no!" Archimedes twisted his head around to look at Jim, yellow eyes baleful, accusing. "I'm not _technically_ an owl, you know - more...owl- _shaped_. And while there are certain...instincts that come with a shape, I eat what any self-respecting familiar spirit would eat."

"Um. And that would be…"

"I don't know; what do _you_ eat?"

"Tonight? Olive and sun-dried tomato chicken with farro salad." Archimedes' eyes widened. " _What_?" Jim snapped. "Just because I'm not Gordon Ramsey-"

Archimedes turned and wrapped his wings partway across Jim's chest. It took a moment to realize the owl (spirit) was _hugging_ him.

"I'm _home_ ," Archimedes breathed.

Jim's mom grinned when Jim returned, Archimedes still in the crook of his arm. "I was wondering what was taking you so long. So this is Archimedes?"

"Yeah." Jim hefted Archimedes up a bit, holding the owl closer to his mother. "Mom, Archimedes. Archimedes, this is my mom, Dr. Barbara Lake."

Archimedes let out a soft hoot.

"I think he likes me!"

Jim hoped so; from what little he knew from a few hours of knowing Archimedes, he seemed the type to be impressed by educated people, so he'd dropped his mother's title in there.

Anyway, leave to keep Archimedes eased _one_ of Jim's new worries, even if it was basically the _least_ of them.

At least there was the chance that Archimedes _would_ be able to teach Jim how to swordfight.

If he went to bed feeling doomed, he at least did his best to hold Toby's insistence that _he_ , at least, believed in Jim, in his mind. Tried to believed that Toby wouldn't put his faith in someone who wasn't worth it.

\---

Eli Pepperjack turned the wide band around carefully. It was flexible, like a sweatband, but was stiff to the touch, as well. It was a bleached white color, bands of deep color, violet so dark to be nearly black, woven through it. He hadn't yet touched the two clasps on one side of the band, because he wasn't through examining the item.

He glanced over at his laptop, scanning the description on the screen. " _They can seem to be made of anything, but all have a few common qualities. If you have any sensitivity at all to magic, it'll 'buzz' in your hand_." Eli frowned at that. He'd never felt _any_ of the things any website said a person sensitive to magic should feel, but he was hopeful for the future. " _If you suspect an item to be a Phylactery, **Do Not** attempt to discern its aura. While this may positively identify the item in question, the backlash can **kill** even someone prepared for it_." Another momentary frown; Eli had yet to find any evidence at all he might be psychic. " _The item **will** resize itself to fit any creature who wears it, but donning a Phylactery without determining its exact nature first is ill-advised. I would recommend donning an unidentified Phylactery only when you believe **nothing** could worsen your current position._ "

And that brought him to the last point. " _If you have ample time and space, you may identify a Phylactery by searching for the catch or slot that may hold a gem of approximately 4 carats. Any stone within grants the Phylactery certain powers…_ "

Eli pressed his fingers against one of the clasps, and, holding his breath, twisted. The clasp slid free, and a small yellow gem fell out onto his bed. The stone was clear, except for the hint of sparks dancing through its interior, and he felt a surge of triumph. Everyone had made fun of him for his obsession with Creepers and aliens and _magic_ , and yet here it was! _Real magic_.

He didn't worry overmuch about why the website warned against telepathic contact with a Phylactery, or what the Phylactery was made of, or, for that fact, what the word 'phylactery' would have meant to nerds with more friends, who spent evenings playing make-believe in each others' basements.


	4. Bular the Vicious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim meets the bane of Trollmarket.

"Hey, Jimbo, you got lunch today?"

Jim grinned and tossed Toby a bag. "You know it! Come on, let's go or we're going to be late."

"Canals?" Toby asked.

"Sure."

Jim was already following Toby when he remembered,

_Toby hated the canals_.

But they were there, too late, the bridge arcing over the dry bed. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the concrete. Jim swerved to avoid them, but Toby was pedaling toward a patch of darkness.

"Toby, no!"

Jim slipped into darkness, and everything went quiet.

Well, almost.

There was a growl, low, rumbling, from far above him. He looked up, and up, until he glimpsed a pair of eyes, yellow, glowing in the darkness.

"Hello, little Trollhunter," the formless creature snarled. _Bular_ , Jim knew. "I hope you're ready for the fight of your _life_."

"I'm not," Jim pled, shaking his head. "I didn't even want this."

"It's your _destiny_ , James Lake," the hulking troll said.

"I'm not the one you want!"

" _You're_ wearing the Amulet," Bular retorted.

Shocked, Jim looked down. _He was wearing the armor_. He hadn't remembered calling it. But at least he had-

His hand was empty. Jim looked around frantically for Daylight, finding it nowhere within sight.

"Do you think _Daylight_ would help you here? You, and untrained whelp? Are you truly the best Merlin can find to stand against me?"

"No! It's all a mistake!"

A wide, toothy grin appeared beneath the glowing eyes. "Then it is a mistake I intend to rectify."

When Jim woke, heart pounding from the sight of a troll bringing a huge sword down to bear on him, it was three in the morning. He hadn't been able to get back to sleep the _last_ three nights when nightmares of Bular (he hadn't even _met_ the Gumm-Gumm; he shivered at the thought of how much worse the dreams would be when he could put a face to his formless terror) had woken him, so the chances weren't good he'd manage it this time. Archimedes was snoozing on Jim's desk (he'd yet to get up to the attic to find a proper perch, but Archimedes wasn't yet complaining more than usual about it). He didn't respond when Jim clambered out of bed, or slipped from his room.

Once downstairs, Jim decided to experiment with a protein breakfast loaf he'd discovered a week ago and hadn't had the time to try yet. He kept his Spanish text open on the counter while he worked, figuring a little last-minute studying couldn't hurt. The goal of fluency continued to evade him, but Jim held out the hope he might one day be able to not embarrass himself in front of Claire Nuñez.

Once the loaf was in the oven, Jim decided to start work on a good aioli to go on the turkey and date sandwich he'd planned for lunch that day, and then before he knew it, the sun was up, and everything he could do to distract himself was done.

"Being up at all hours is all well and good for an owl, but it's not going to serve _you_ well."

Jim yelped and hurled his knife toward the sound; Archimedes dodged in a flurry of feathers and a startled squawk, and the knife stuck in the back of the couch. Archimedes landed just above the knife and gave Jim a dirty glare.

"I might not have mentioned it, but Bular would be delighted if you managed to skewer _me_ , so kindly don't do _that_ again."

"Sorry," Jim muttered as he retrieved the knife. He doubted the _other_ Trollhunters had been so easily startled so as to nearly kill Archimedes.

"You haven't been sleeping well."

"I've been sleeping _fine_." Cleaning the knife, Jim decided to make a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies; they always made him feel better after a long day.

"Clearly not. Perhaps if we made our training more strenuous…"

Jim groaned. Archimedes had realized Jim wasn't yet in good enough shape to run around stabbing people, so had him running through grueling exercises that should leave Jim in a position to usurp Steve Palchuk from the football team by this time next year, providing Jim was still alive then. It sent him to bed exhausted every night. "No more, unless you're ready to teach me how to actually, you know, _fight_."

"Hmph. If you're to be a competent swordsman, which you must be _at least_ to survive Bular, you must master the fundamentals."

Jim didn't have a response to that, so just stuck the cookies in the oven and began packing up lunch for him, his mother, and Toby. Archimedes must have taken pity on him, because the owl fluttered to his side after a few minutes and patted his arm with one of his wings.

"I promise I will do everything in my power to help you survive." Jim grunted; it was clearly the most _Archimedes_ was willing to hope for, but still stung, hearing that his purported mentor doubted he could survive, much less defeat _anyone_.

He was still fuming at school, which meant when he heard an angry exchange a few lockers down, his anger spiked and he was striding in that direction before he could even figure out what was happening.

It was Steve Palchuk _of course_ , harassing some skinny dark-haired kid - Eli, he thought his name was.

"Give it _back_ , Steve!"

"Why? Did your _boyfriend_ give it to you?" Steve held up something to the light, squinting at it. "Pretty _small_ for a present-"

"That's _mine_!" Eli repeated, leaping at Steve's hand. 

Steve laughed and pulled it out of reach. "Nah, looks pretty cool, actually."

"How about you give it _back_ , Steve?"

Steve glanced at Jim, grin sliding to something nasty. "Aww, you seem awfully protective of Pepper _dork_ , here. Is there something you want to share, Lake?"

"Yeah." Jim cracked his neck, took a step forward. "I've been looking for a fight, and unlike _you_ , I'm not afraid of someone who can fight back."

Steve's lip curled. "You think you can _take me_ , Lake?"

Jim shrugged. "Do you think you _can't_?"

And then Steve was up close, and Jim, on edge since Archimedes had first flown into his life, punched hm. Steve fell back, swearing through the hand he held to his mouth. Jim hissed and cradled his knuckles, one of which he'd certain he'd cut on Steve's _teeth_ , though _none_ of them felt well.

Steve then growled, launched himself at Jim, and it became something of a free-for-all. Steve jammed his elbow into Jim's diaphragm, slammed his foot down on Jim's calf hard enough to bruise. Jim punched Steve's face a couple more times, ignoring the stinging of his hand and not caring if the blood on his knuckles was his or Steve's. 

And then someone was dragging him away from Steve. "Lake! Ste - Palchuk! Office, _now_!"

By the time they'd reached Principal Levit's office, Jim's anger had drained away. _Steve_ looked plenty angry, but he got into fights _all the time_ ; he probably had practice holding onto that anger while being chewed out by authority figures.

Jim, though, was done being angry; he was mostly just exhausted. He didn't hear most of Principal Levit's lecture, although he _did_ catch 'call your parents'.

Whatever detention or suspension they were planning for Jim, _that_ was definitely the part he was dreading. He couldn't ever recall seeing his mom angry with him, but was certain this was going to do it.

When Jim's mom arrived, though, she didn't look angry - or at least, he couldn't see it. He followed her, silent, to the car. Instead of driving off, though, she leaned against the steering wheel and sighed.

"What's _wrong_ , Jim?"

The protest that it was nothing died on Jim's lips; his mom didn't deserve a lie like that. "I can't talk about it."

"You've been anxious, Jim, not sleeping well - I can _tell_ \- and now you're getting into _fights_?"

Jim let out a shuddering breath. He'd known hitting Steve was a mistake the moment he'd done it, but his anxiety about Bular had gotten bound up in his anger at an enemy he _could_ fight, and he'd just lost it.

"I always hoped you could tell me anything, Jim, but if you're feeling there's something you _can't_ , we can find someone for you to talk to-"

A therapist seemed like a _worse_ idea than telling his mother. But the thought brought another to mind.

"Mr. Strickler...gave me some advice that helped when I came in late the other day." It might be no easier to _lie_ to Strickler than it would his mom, but Strickler at least wouldn't make him feel interrogated. And...Strickler _had_ helped with his advice about thinking about death.

Jim's mother looked over at him; her eyes were a little soft, worried, but she was smiling weakly. "He's not a counselor, Jim. But...well, if you feel comfortable talking to him, I can see how he'd feel about sitting down with you every now and then. If...you think it would help."

"Yeah, Mom. I think it would."

But before _that_ could happen, Jim was going on his first patrol. It was _important_ , Archimedes insisted, that the Trollhunter be seen out and about (it occured to Jim it was...odd that Archimedes hadn't mentioned traveling out of Arcadia Oaks for Trollhunting business, like he didn't expect it to be necessary). If he was going to but in the amount of work Archimedes had said it would take, Jim was going to need to come up with better cover, but tonight he had told his mom he was sleeping over at Toby's.

Toby, for his part, was elated, all but bouncing in place, as Jim checked the fit of his armor (it was perfect, but it was habit to check his safety gear before leaving home).

"Dude, are you sure I can't go with you?"

"I'm _trollhunting_ , Tobes. If I run into something dangerous, I can't afford being worried about you. And besides, you're supposed to keep my cover over here."

"Oh. Right." Toby gave Jim a sheepish grin. "Though if I had something like your sword - a big axe or a - a _partisan_ \- you couldn't _keep_ me away!"

Jim hummed in response rather than say what he wanted to, which was Toby's attitude was exactly what he was afraid of. _Archimedes_ may have recovered quickly from his worry about sending a teenager out to die, but Jim was less okay with risking his loved ones' lives.

Archimedes hopped to the top of Toby's dresser and waved for attention, puffing up once he was certain he had it. "Now is an important time to remind you trolls themselves are not the enemy-"

"Seems confusing that he's the Trollhunter, then," Toby commented.

"Well." Archimedes ruffled his feathers. "This is again one of those unfortunate issues of translation. 'Jotnarvas' might be more accurately translated as 'One who serves trollkind as a hunter', but there's no pithy way to describe it in English-"

"Monster hunter," Toby offered. "Demon slayer."

"None of those appellations are remotely accurate, and fail to encompass the _ethos_ of the Trollhunter, which is to serve both troll- and human-kind through destruction of their common enemies, and to serve as a _bridge_ between the two species-“

"Yeah, about that." Archimedes pulled up short at Jim's interjection. "I'm supposed to be fighting Gunmar to help the 'good' trolls, so why haven't I met any of them yet?"

"Ah." Archimedes shifted nervously from foot to foot. "The Trollhunter has an historically… _turbulent_ relationship with the trolls of Trollmarket, the settlement nearest Arcadia. While their _overarching_ goals align with ours, there are some philosophical differences that have caused friction over their years, including a shockingly liberal attitude regarding prisoners of war. While you can certainly rely upon most trolls you encounter to hold no love in their hearts for Gunmar, you should not expect any fondness for you, either."

Jim sighed, because of _course_ this was how it was. "Okay. Great."

"Now. You are not attempting to seek and defeat Bular, merely watch for goblins, gnomes, various supernatural pests that might otherwise cause difficulty for people or trolls. But be on your guard - Bular has been quite active in Arcadia. If you do discover him, allow me to offer three pieces of advice. First, _be afraid_. He can likely kill you with little effort. Second, _show no hesitation_. Fight or run, you must _commit_ to the decision. Third, if all else fails, if you are trapped and have no other option, kick him in the gronk-nuts."

"The…"

"The _groin_ , James. The _test_ -"

"Yeah, okay. _Gronk-nuts_. What if it's a girl troll?"

Archimedes paused. "Well, generally there's enough nerve endings in that area to get a good stun going regardless of the presence of testicles, but the target's a little harder to hit. I sincerely doubt it will erode the position in which that was your best option, anyway."

“Good. Great. You aren’t going to be coming along, are you?”

“ _Heavens_ , no! If Bular got his hands on me - why, the only thing I could imagine being worse than that would be if he acquired the Amulet of Daylight!”

Jim had somehow expected that, but it didn't make the disappointment sting any less.

And, once he'd climbed down the tree outside Toby's room into the dark, the fear. Because he hadn't done more than swing the sword around a couple of times, and now he was out, exposed, all but defenseless.

And for all that, Jim didn't meet so much as a stray cat during his entire circuit of the town. Once he was finished, on a whim, he decided to head back to where he'd found the body, or, as Archimedes had explained, _two_ bodies. Archimedes had been vague on the details, but Bular had apparently killed both the last Trollhunter _and_ Trollmarket's greatest warrior at once, leaving a lump of flesh and shattered pile of rock.

The human body had been moved, and someone had cleaned up the troll's remains. Jim hoped, watching the scene from the edge of the canals, that trolls had gotten the pile so they could do whatever trolls did for funerals.

Something in the shadows beneath the bridge seemed to move; Jim leaned in to see more clearly-

And something, some instinct he'd never before experienced, turned that into a duck, a desperate roll as two blades sliced the air where he'd been standing a moment before. Something soared over Jim, a shape such a dark blue it was nearly black. He scrambled back as a troll, easily ten feet tall, landed and began stomping toward Jim. Two pairs of horns, one framing his face and the other a sort of crest rising up from his head, and a vicious fanged grin. All of this was illuminated by his glowing red eyes.

"Bular, I assume?"

" _Trollhunter_."

"So I've been told." Jim took a step back, testing his footing and considering his best route out of here - one that wouldn't lead Bular straight back to his house. "Look, I know you're probably eager to rend me limb from limb-"

"Ha! I wouldn't. Ruins the flavor."

"Huh. Do you season at all?"

Bular tilted his head, a little like a dog. "...What?"

"You're saying you plan to eat me. Is this going to be a stew, roast, sear? What sort of seasonings do you use? Are there traditional sides to fresh human? I've heard we taste like pork, so apples might be a good way to go."

"What?"

"Oh, _please_ don't tell me you were just planning to eat me raw, because you would be missing _out_. Look, Bular. How about this? You get down to a bookstore, buy 'The Joy of Cooking', at least, look up the chapter about pork. Take notes, maybe work on a few ideas. And once you've got, like, a solid plan how to prepare me, we can do the whole fight to the death thing and I can die happy, knowing I'll at least make one last meal."

"Wha-"

Bular didn't get to finish his question, because Jim, who'd used his patter to draw closer to the hulking troll, punched between his legs, and, as Bular doubled in pain, sprinted away. Bular was a warrior, so the punch to the gronk-nuts didn't take him out for _long_ , but the delay proved vital, giving Jim enough time to crest the canals and vanish, at least briefly, from view. He wasn't certain how long Bular had been in town, but did his best dodging through alleys, backyards, and the city park, pausing to listen each time he thought he'd lost Bular. Each time, it seemed to take longer before the Gumm-Gumm seemed to find Jim, and the last time, he finally risked dismissing his armor, waiting, pressed against a tree in the park. 

After about ten minutes, Jim was almost certain he was home free, when he heard Bular's heavy steps. He froze, picking out his escape route, when he saw Bular wasn't walking toward him, but toward the knot of buildings that included the library, museum, and post office. Jim held his breath, trying to force his heart to stop pounding, until Bular moved out of sight, and then began a _quiet_ sprint back toward Toby's house. He was shaking so hard he could barely climb the tree outside Toby's window, and when Toby opened the window at Jim's knock, he all but fell in.

Toby tried to tug Jim up, but fell back down to the floor when Jim was unable to comply. "Hey, buddy, you okay?"

"I saw _Bular_ ," Jim whimpered. "He was so - why didn't you tell me how _big_ trolls are?" This last he directed at Archimedes, who had apparently been relaxed enough to _nap_ , at least until Jim's shout startled him awake.

"Your species is terrible at visualizing how big things are. If I told you Bular was the size of a moose, would you have been frightened of him?"

"No - wait, how big do mooses _get_?"

"My point exactly."

"But you're okay, right?"

Jim whimpered and tucked his head against his chest. " _Physically_." But he had _no idea_ how he was going to do this a _second_ time, much less _every night for the rest of his life_.

\---

"He was no bigger than a _whelp_ , Stricklander." Walter looked up from his efforts to piece together their most recent acquisitions; Nomura might have been more proficient at securing the remnants of the Killahead Bridge, but _he_ had a talent for puzzles. Most jigsaws bored him, even the one he'd bought that was just a sheet of featureless black.

"A child?"

"I'm certain of it," Bular growled. "What does the pigeon think he's up to?"

"He must be desperate," Walter replied, though he felt a spark of annoyance at the revelation.

No.

Not annoyance.

Anger. Walter did his best to keep _children_ out of the way of the Order's machinations, with the exception of the necessary abductions - but even _those_ children were kept where no harm would _ever_ befall them.

"If he was a child, you can find out who he is."

"Possibly," Walter agreed. A moment later, his work surface shuddered, sending pieces of stone skittering off the table and across the floor; he heard the goblins fighting over them. He looked up at Bular, scowl painted on the troll's face, fist embedded in a new dent in the table, and sighed. "Can you describe him?"

"He was a human whelp. Barely two bites. Wearing the armor of the Trollhunter."

Walter didn't conceal his sigh this time; he pinched at the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. The tendency of trolls - of even most changelings - to insist all humans looked alike was a trial most days, but today was clearly going to be a _special sort_ of day.


	5. Cultural Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eli returns to the scene of the crime, in the hopes of finding more magical artifacts. He finds something else entirely.

The first thing Eli did when he got home was check under his bed for the Phylactery. Ever since he'd nearly lost one of the gems inside to _Steve Palchuk_ by bringing it to school, he'd taken pains to keep it safe. He had a lockbox his mother had bought him two years ago when he'd expressed concern about the integrity of important documents if there were a fire; said lockbox had proven invaluable in keeping his precious collection of weird objects, and now was home to the Phylactery.

The Phylactery was safe, so Eli transferred it to his backpack along with his notebook, pencils, binoculars, first aid kit, and various sundries. His truncheon and pepper spray went in the interior pockets of his jacket, and his emergency whistle around his neck.

And then Eli was ready to investigate. It had taken a full week to plan this outing, to lay the groundwork of an assignment requiring a museum visit and watching a classic film at the local movie theater, enough to keep him out after dark.

It was more legwork than Eli usually put into investigating the Creepers haunting Arcadia Oaks, but having verified that what he found buried beneath a pile of fallen masonry in the canals was a _genuine magical artifact_ , he had to ride that momentum. Maybe he could find where the Phylactery had come from (there was a statistically significant increase in Creeper sightings closer to the canals, so Eli was certain he could find _something_ there).

He promised his mom he'd be back by nine, that he'd be safe, that he would call her if there were _any_ problems, and then was out of the house, free to explore the strange and mysterious world of Creepers.

He made his usual cursory examination of his surroundings as he walked, looking for little signs of the presence of Creepers - faeries, goblins, or other boogums. But that was even more cursory than usual, because Eli had a goal.

An hour later, he realized he should have brought snacks. _Bring rations to stakeouts_ , Eli wrote in his observations notebook. _Maybe a book?_ he added. Because sitting in the bushes by the canals, watching the bridge where he'd found the Phylactery, wore on his focus. Sure, it was exciting he might see a Creeper, but the longer he went without seeing one, the harder it was to hold on to the possibility he would. Dusk gave way to full night, and then it was seven, seven-thirty, and Eli began to despair of seeing _anything_.

And then he saw it!

Nothing clear, but a wobbling sort of movement in the shadows beneath the bridge. Eli leaned in, focusing his binoculars, trying to pick out shapes in the darkness-

"I never thought I'd see the day Blinkous was right about something, but here we are." The deep voice came from behind and _above_ Eli; he turned quickly, and for a moment thought there was nothing there. And then he realized he hadn't been sitting near a rock formation,and raised his gaze, slowly, along the blue mass behind him, to a scowling face, fanged, topped with _three sets_ of curved horns. The bulk seemed covered all over with spikes, and had Eli mentioned the creature was _eight feet tall_?

He yelped and bolted, tripped, and skidded down the slope of the canal. The creature above him grunted and jumped, curling into a ball like an armadillo and _rolled_ after Eli. Eli was pretty sure his truncheon and pepper spray weren't going to cut it, so he fumbled in his bag as he scrambled to his feet, grabbed the Phylactery, and slipped it over his hand onto his forearm. The huge Creeper hit the bottom of the canal, bounced once, uncurling, though when it saw Eli's arm, howled, "Thief!" and lunged.

Eli darted back-

And rammed into one of the supports to the bridge. Eli's heart was racing, eyes fixed on the Creeper, now more distant, but as the Creeper rolled up into a ball, approaching. _Quickly_. Eli stumbled sideways-

Tripping on the slope at the far end of the canal. The crash as the Creeper ran into the bridge gave Eli a moment to think. What was _happening_? Teleporting? Probably not; there was supposed to be a component of intention to teleportation that would have been more likely taken him _home_ if he were teleporting subconsciously.

The Creeper roared, so Eli, trying to _focus_ , moved to clamber up the side of the canal-

Skidding to a stop right before he ran into a tree. Eli felt a grin force its way onto his mouth when he finally got it. He wasn't _teleporting_ ; he had _super speed_.

"Ha! So long, you Creeper!" Eli turned, plotting out a route that would take advantage of his apparent inability to _steer_ while running at super speeds, and-

Tripped, landing facedown on the concrete. Something heavy pressed against his back, effectively trapping Eli in place.

Or _was_ it? To move as fast as Eli had, the Phylactery must have been amplifying his momentum _substantially_. Eli pressed his hands against the ground and _shoved_ -

He lifted a few inches off the ground before he heard a strained grunt and slammed back down.

"Draal, it would be ideal if you joined us as soon as possible; I'm not certain how long Aaarrrgghh can hold them."

While the big Creeper (Draal?) had a gravelly, dangerous voice, this voice was cultured. Refined. He couldn't imagine the owner of this voice, say, grinding someone's bones down to make their bread. He couldn't even imagine the owner of this voice returning a library book late.

"Don't worry. Surprised me; not going to let him go." Eli stilled; _that_ voice had a Hulk-like quality to it. Slow. Deliberate. Restrained at the moment, albeit with the possibility of becoming _un_ restrained if the situation called for it.

Eli was probably going to die. "Please don't eat me!"

There was a sudden quiet; the weight on Eli's back eased.

" _Eat_ you?" the cultured voice asked, incredulous. "Where would you get a notion like that?"

"Maybe seen Bular."

"Ha! It's not that. He's a _fleshbag_ ; they're terrified everything bigger than them is going to eat them." Something grabbed the back of Eli's shirt and pulled him up, setting him down in front of...a tall blue creature with a prominent orange nose, fangs protruding from their mouth, _four_ arms and _six_ curious eyes blinking at him. A grunt to Eli's side made him turn to see...a _huge_ moss-covered creature with horns like a ram's. He whimpered. 

A slap on his back made Eli spin to find the original Creeper, Draal, grinning down at him with their fang-filled mouth. "Of course, that assumes you _are_ a fleshbag."

The six-eyed one, who was at least smaller than the others if still taller than anyone Eli knew, trundled around to Draal, frowning. "What are you saying, Draal?"

"Bular has proven too elusive to be operating on his own. He must have _someone_ working with him who can pass unnoticed in the human world."

"Not me!" Eli protested. "I've never even _met_ this Bular guy!"

The smaller Creeper ignored Eli, however. "You can't say you believe there are _changelings_ within a stone's throw of Trollmarket!"

" _You_ believe things equally unbelievable, Blinkous, and I've never heard you listen to reason from any of _us_."

"But _changelings_ are an entirely different sort of beast. Next you'll say you believe in the Janus Order!"

"Blinky. Draal." The two other trolls turned to the massive one, mouths open as if they were each about to say something. "Go see Rot-Guts."

Blinky (Blinkous?) raised two hands, fingers raised, before letting them fall. "Huh."

"What?" Draal demanded.

"Rot-Guts _did_ mention they'd picked up a gaggletack some time back," Blinky mused. "It would take only a few minutes to secure it from him and ensure this person is as human as they appear."

"And who will stay here to make sure our potential changeling doesn't escape?"

"I hadn't intended leaving them here-"

"Take a _changeling_ into the heart of _Trollmarket_? _Unthinkable_! And in any case, the _first_ thing we are doing is getting my bracer back." Draal stepped up close, looming, _nearly_ as threatening as Steve Palchuk. "Hand it over, fleshbag."

Eli slapped his hand over the Phylactery. "Why should I? _I_ found it-"

" _Stole_ it," Draal snared. "Stole it from my father when you stumbled across his sunlit corpse, where he fell combating Bular the Vicious. You have not the skill, the honor, the _right _to wear it, much less make use of the Swiftgem or Stone of Sharpness."__

__Which, okay, that was...serious stuff. But more than that, the Creepers were talking in a way that suggested if Eli played his cards right, they might let him see their, what, nest, cave, _whatever_._ _

__"Well, if it's that important, of course you should have it back. And, um, sorry about your dad." Eli pulled off the Phylactery and handed it to Draal; they snatched it away as soon as the Phylactery was in reach. They didn't acknowledge Eli's words as they slipped the Phylactery onto their wrist, though the huge Creeper gave Eli a wide smile that may have been meant to be comforting, if the Creepers were telling the truth about not planning to eat him. Eli tried smiling back, and the big Creeper's smile widened._ _

__"Not a changeling!" they declared._ _

__"What?"_ _

__"Aaarrrgghh, old friend, it is a proven fact that nothing aside from a gaggletack can verify whether a creature is a natural human - or troll - or a changeling."_ _

__The larger Creeper (troll?) rumbled low in their chest. "Certain. Gaggletack agree with me."_ _

__Blinky threw up their hands. "Well, if you're _certain_." They glanced at Draal. "Can you retrieve the gaggletack on your own, or would you rather we drag a possible changeling through Trollmarket?"_ _

__Draal snorted. "Do you believe that if this is a changeling, you and Aaarrrgghh can subdue them on your own? Given your lack of ability and Aaarrrgghh's lack of...will?"_ _

__Blinky sighed, sinking down a little. "Well, I'd _hoped_ we might be able to bluff them if it came to violence, but not now that you've exposed your lack of faith in my abilities, and Aaarrrgghh's pacifism."_ _

__Eli peered at the larger...troll...whose name was apparently Argh, finding their smile slightly less threatening in light of Draal's declaration that they were a pacifist. And Blinky...well, their _relative_ size coupled with Draal's dismissal of their abilities suggested...well, they might have more in common with _Eli_ than their friends._ _

__But there was something else in there that drew Eli's focus. "Does that mean you'll take me back to your...Trollmarket?"_ _

__Draal gave him a long look, and a slightly shorter, but sterner one to Argh, before grunting. "No. You two keep an eye on the fleshbag, and if they _do_ turn out to be a changeling, I'll expect an apology...as long as you manage to survive." Draal jumped forward, tucking into a ball, and then Blinky was blocking Eli's sight._ _

__"Well, that settles it," Blinky said. "We're staying here with you until Draal returns with a gaggletack." They paused, suddenly, giving Eli a narrow stare. "Unless...you _are_ a changeling. If you are, I warn you I have studied dozens of forms of human unarmed combat."_ _

__"But your friend said-"_ _

__Blinky huffed and shrank down, scowling. "I never said I was any good at them." They waved at Argh. "Draal's right; if you were here to kill me while my guard is down, you would have little problem."_ _

__"No way!" Eli protested. "I've been waiting my whole _life_ to meet a Creeper who didn't want to rip me limb from limb. I have so many _questions_!"_ _

__"Ah." Blinky gave Argh a careful look; Eli was bad at reading _human_ expressions, so he had no chance of interpreting _this_. But Blinky gave Eli a wide smile and sat down next to him, cross-legged. “Well! If you have questions, I am happy to answer!”_ _

__“Are you sure your friend won’t get mad?”_ _

__Blinky squinted at Eli with about half of their eyes. It was _really_ weird. “Aaarrrgghh? He’s quite used to my pedagogical impulses.”_ _

__Eli shook his head. “Not Argh-“_ _

__“Aaarrrgghh,” Argh interjected; startled, Eli looked to meet the troll’s wide smile._ _

__“What?”_ _

__“You _have_ been mangling his name somewhat,” Blinky admitted. “It should be drawn out a little more. ‘Aaarrrgghh’. You see?”_ _

__“Aaarrrgghh,” Eli tried, and Aaarrrgghh’s smile widened. “So is that like a nickname? Draal called Blinky ‘Blinkous’-“_ _

__Aaarrrgghh’s smile vanished. “Just Aaarrrgghh.”_ _

__“Oh. Cool.” They sat in silence for a few moments before Eli risked another exchange. “So. Trolls. What… _are_ trolls?”_ _

__“An excellent question!” Blinky leapt to his face, a broad smile exposing a mouthful of fangs. “Trolls are creatures of living stone, born in the light of a Heartstone. We have walked the earth about as long as humans, though often not in the same circles.”_ _

__“Living stone?”_ _

__“Oh, yes.” Blinky held out an arm. “Go ahead and hit me - not too hard, mind you.”_ _

__Cautious, Eli rapped his knuckles against Blinky’s arm, finding the flesh unyielding, not quite as hard as stone, but definitely capable of taking more punishment than a human’s._ _

__“Oh. My. Gosh. This is _amazing_! What do you eat? Like rocks, or - do you know anything about any other creatures? Or magic? Do you know magic? And what are you doing in Arcadia Oaks?”_ _

__“ _Not_ sharing all of our secrets with potential changeling spies,” a rumbling voice interjected, heralding Draal’s arrival. The troll lumbered into view and handed Eli something that looked like a rusty horseshoe, jerking it toward Eli when he didn’t immediately take it. Eli took hold of the horseshoe, cautiously. _ _

__He looked up at Blinky when nothing happened. "Um, is that okay?"_ _

__"See?" Aaarrrgghh rumbled. "Not changeling. Human whelp."_ _

__Draal scowled and snatched the horseshoe (gaggletack?) back from Eli. " _Fine_. Now that I have my bracer back, I have work to do. _You two_ do what you want, as long as it _doesn't_ involve letting them into Trollmarket." With that, Draal slipped away._ _

__Blinky clapped their hands together, a startling sound. They were grinning. "Now that the question of your species is resolved, we can return to our cultural exchange."_ _

__"Actually...my mom'll _kill_ me if I'm home late."_ _

__Aaarrrgghh growled, a low, almost threatening rumble through their form. "Shouldn't hurt _whelps_. As bad as _Gunmar_."_ _

__Blinky nodded in agreement. "Indeed. If you are frightened for your _safety_ , I would consider it my duty to do all in my power to protect you. Draal may be hesitant to allow a human into Trollmarket, but if the alternative is _death_ -"_ _

__"Whoa, whoa. Guys - dudes - um. Is it rude to ask if you're guys or girls...or something else?"_ _

__"What?" Blinky's eyes narrowed into a squint._ _

__Aaarrrgghh, though, began to laugh, Eli thought, a rough, pleased rumble. "Blinky male. Aaarrrgghh male. You?"_ _

__Eli felt a small moment of indignation, until he realized this wasn't like the bullies at school taunting him for being a pansy or girly or whatever - like Eli with trolls, they didn't know how to tell a boy from a girl human. "I'm a boy, dudes. And...I was joking before, about my mom."_ _

__"Not funny," Aaarrrgghh grumbled. "People who hurt whelps… _not good people_."_ _

__"No, definitely!" Eli agreed. "But my mom wouldn't do that - it was dumb of me to say she would."_ _

__"Hmph. Good."_ _

__"I _wasn't_ joking about needing to get home, though."_ _

__"But maybe we could meet again and I could teach you about trolls and our world, and you can teach me about humans and _yours_."_ _

__Eli shrugged. "Maybe. I can't get out like this often-"_ _

__"It would be no trouble at all for _us_ to come to _you_."_ _

__Aaarrrgghh rumbled uncertainly, so Eli looked to him. "Dangerous."_ _

__"Oh, certainly, if we were allies of the _Trollhunter_."_ _

__"Draal-"_ _

__"Would be the first to agree he merely _tolerates_ us. Come, we will escort you home and discuss the particulars. The first, naturally, being your name."_ _

__"Eli. Eli Pepperjack."_ _

__\---_ _

__Barbara Lake stirred at her coffee, even though the sugar and cream were thoroughly mixed in. She hadn't taken her eyes away from it during the halting explanation._ _

__"I know this is above and beyond what you're expected to do as a teacher-"_ _

__"Hardly. Arcadia Oaks is lucky to provide its teachers the resources to encourage such involvement when we can; in fact, the support of the parents often improves the likelihood of such interventions."_ _

__Barbara chuckled, nervous, but her eyes were soft, expression relieved. It was a much prettier look than the pinched worry that had dominated when they'd first sat with their coffee. "I don't want you to think of this as...me trying to get you to - scare Jim straight or anything." She paused, bright blue eyes narrowing, keen, behind her glasses. " _Especially_ if he's confused about his sexuality or...gender, _damn_ , I don't think I've talked to him about that." She looked up at Strickler, eyes wide, and he momentarily lost his breath. "If it _is_ that, make sure he knows I've never mentioned anything about it to make him - or if it _is_ the case, her - feel like I don't support-" She paused, peering more carefully at Strickler; he tried to school his expression into something more somber. "You're laughing at me."_ _

__"Not at all, Barbara. I...I'm pleased your worry is that you have not done enough to reassure your child he has your _unconditional_ support. I will keep that in mind if Jim's concerns run in that direction. I do hope you are aware that, except in rare circumstances, or with Jim's approval, I cannot share with you the particulars of what we discuss."_ _

__Barbara nodded. "That was part of the point, getting him someone _other_ than me to talk to. If he hadn't said he felt more comfortable around _you_ , I'd be shopping for therapists."_ _

__And Strickler felt a little surge of pleasure, one of surprise. He'd always been able to pass adequately in human society. Humans thought of him as pleasant, professional, but Jim was the first human who'd admitted to feeling _comfortable_ around him._ _

__"Well, I'm honored. I will certainly do whatever I can to help Jim. And, I know we can't speak of particulars, but perhaps you would wish to meet every now and again, just to touch base?"_ _

__There was a glint in Barbara's eyes, a hint of narrowing them, the slightest tension in her form, and Strickler drew back, let his shoulders slump, tried to look less...present. "To touch base," Barbara mused. "I suppose." She produced a pen and scrawled her number on a napkin. "You have our home number, but this is my cell. I don't answer while I'm working, but I'll be sure to get the message."_ _

__Strickler took the napkin and took a moment trying to figure out the number actually written there, before he gave Barbara a gentle, hopefully nonthreatening smile. "It is an honor and a pleasure. Now, I believe you have work, and I have papers to grade."_ _

__It was a promising note to end their meeting on, even if there was a small twinge of disappointment it hadn't ended quite as well as it could have._ _

__Still, a good day, despite the frustrations of dealing with his… _moonlighting_._ _


	6. Adventures in Archeology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim makes an unfortunate discovery at the local museum, and has to make a hard choice.

Jim was not paying attention.

No, this wasn't true. He wasn't paying attention to the _curator_ , Miss Nomura. He _was_ paying attention to the display of ancient currency. He kept trying to figure out the origin based on the face on the coins; the only one he'd gotten was Rome, because of the guy with two faces on it.

_Janus_ , the placard said, the god of change, beginnings, endings, _transitions_.

"Liminal," Jim murmured.

Next to him, Toby looked over, one eyebrow up. "Dude?"

Jim shook his head, uncertain how to explain it. But he hung by the coins as the curator led them away, chattering on about Germanic traditions in something something. In the quiet as the group moved on, he found himself toying with the Amulet of Daylight, not intending to use it, just...unable to leave it alone.

"Thinking of a big heist?"

Jim yelped, and only by the grace of his half-trained reflexes did he _not_ hurl the Amulet of Daylight into the nearest display case. Claire Nuñez was standing next to Jim, smiling at him, something that two months ago would have sent his heart racing. Even so, the playful glint to her eyes helped ease Jim's shock a little.

"No," he protested, voice squeaking on the word.

"I'm not sure I believe you." Claire leaned in to the display, eyeing the coins. "This'd be some pretty neat shit to put in a coin collection. _Way_ better than a Buffalo Head penny."

Jim gave her a sidelong look. "It sounds like _you're_ planning a museum heist."

"And what if I am?" Claire's expression went a little sharp, mischievous, eyes sparkling a little. "You want in?"

Jim considered, for a second. Obviously Claire wasn't _actually_ planning to steal the museum's rare coin collection. Her mom would lose her re-election bid for having a delinquent daughter and _disown_ her. But if she were…

He shrugged. "Pretty sure I'd have to stop you."

Claire spun on her heel, leaning over to Jim. "Funny," she said, "you don't _look_ like Batman."

"Spiderman, actually."

"I don't know, you look a little too broody to be Spiderman."

Jim laughed despite himself, earning a smile from Claire.

"Come on," she wheedled. "What's so fascinating about these coins?"

"I don't know. People stick weird shit on their money. Like the two-faced dude here."

"Janus," Claire said.

"I know," Jim replied, pointing at the placard. "Seems a weird dude to stick on your money."

"Eh, not any weirder than Abraham Lincoln, if you think about it." She stepped up close, eyes narrowed, but still smiling. "Come on, what're you really up to in here?"

"Why do I need to be up to something?"

Claire shrugged. "You're dark and broody, beat up bullies. There's gotta be something going on up there."

Jim winced. Getting into a fight with Steve Palchuk had not been his proudest moment. And if anyone had seriously hoped it would curb Steve's bullying tendencies, they would have been disappointed. And he wasn't about to tell a girl he'd exchanged maybe five words a week with how he'd just been venting his frustrations at the prospect of being killed by a ten-foot-tall troll.

A flash of movement behind Claire drew his attention; glancing in that direction, Jim felt a jolt of a chill.

There was a goblin in the museum.

Claire's eyes widened, and _damn_ was she perceptive. She was starting to turn, and there was no way Jim could drag another person into this-

He grabbed Claire's shoulder, turned her, and kissed her.

There were about twelve things wrong with this, but Jim wasn't naturally good at fighting when he was thinking about it. Archimedes had, with some reluctance, suggested Jim rely more on his instincts, which was working for him, except in the real world where it meant he just listened to his first impulses.

Claire shoved Jim away, eyes blazing. "What the _fuck_ -"

"I'm sorry! I don't know what I was thinking! We were talking, and joking, and I thought maybe flirting and - _fuck_. I don't know."

Claire's stance, clearly ready to fight, eased, and while she still looked mad, she wasn't, you know, fuming. "Well." She folded her arms across her chest. "That's not cool, you know."

"Yes, I _know_."

Claire's frown slipped into something more neutral. "Seriously, if you want to kiss someone, _ask_."

"I _know_ \- I just don't know what I was thinking, and-" Jim threw up his hands, finding the words wouldn't come.

"Are you…" Claire took a cautious step forward, "okay? Because I never really thought you were the type to get into fights, or kiss random girls without their permission, and yet…"

"I'm…" _Fine_ wouldn't be believable, but neither would the truth, " _Seeing_ someone. Talking it out. That kind of thing."

"Oh. Well, that's good." Claire patted Jim's shoulder. "You alway seemed like a nice guy. I'd hate to think you were letting that go away."

Understandably, she seemed done with talking to Jim, leaving him to rejoin the class, which was technically what he'd wanted in the first place. Because goblins were bad news - not as bad news as if, say, _Bular_ were running around the place, but goblins were up there. The problem, Archimedes had explained, was that goblins were very easy to kill, traveled in close-knit packs, and _had a very good memory for faces_.

So basically like small, flightless crows with no sense of humor. Toby had advised treating all encounters with goblins like _Metal Gear Solid_. 

The fact that Jim couldn't see the goblin he'd sighted earlier was possibly a good sign. He paused, poised on the balls of his feet, as he considered delving deeper into the museum to track the goblin.

"Jimbo!" Jim paused, turned as Toby nearly ran into him, puffing a little as he stopped. "Everyone's heading back to the bus and no one knew where you were and Claire said you were hanging out back here and…" He paused, giving Jim a sudden smile, sly. "You _dog_."

Jim winced. "Ugh, it's not like that, Tobes. I was dumb. You should drop it."

Toby shrugged, but took a step closer to Jim. "You're still hanging out here. What's going down?"

"Do you remember what Archimedes said about goblins?"

Toby was suddenly, like, uncomfortably close. "Jimbo?" he whispered. "Are there goblins here right now?"

"Do you _see_ any goblins?"

"No," Toby replied, eyeing the corners of the room warily, "but I thought you might have super Trollhunter senses. Or maybe - the fact that you can't _see_ goblins - is how you know they're _there_!"

"Toby." Jim slung an arm around Toby's shoulder, keeping Toby from pacing frantically. "Invisible goblins aren't a thing. The problem is…"

The problem was goblins were scavengers by nature, small and crafty, which made them excellent thieves. Bular and the non-Gumm Gumms who he called allies used them to fetch things they wouldn't risk themselves to acquire. Of course, they were also, you know, _scavengers_. Making the question whether that was a lone goblin looking for an easy meal somewhere, or sent to steal something.

Unfortunately, that meant asking Archimedes.

The owl (owl- _shaped_ creature) stroked his chin at the question. "I know of nothing of note stored at the Arcadia Oaks Museum, but the last Trollhunter was not a particularly cerebral fellow."

"Yeah, but maybe there's something you can think of that like, Bular or someone would be looking for?"

Archimedes shot Jim a narrow glare. "There are _many_ things that Bular would wish to seek. The Skathe-Hrün. The Kairosect. The True Grail. The Tarnkappe. The Gjallarhorn."

"But none you think might be in the Arcadia Oaks Museum?"

Archimedes twisted his head around; Jim wasn't certain if he did it because he was trying to be creepy or just didn't care that he was. "I could certainly research the matter. But some hands-on investigation might be more productive."

Jim sighed. Everything, it seemed, came back to this. Jim had discovered it was impossible to maintain the terror that'd kept him from sleeping for a week straight at the thought of meeting Bular again. It didn't stop him from facing every night of patrol with a sort of exhausted dread, beginning to warm up to the idea of accepting Toby's occasional offers of assistance, despite Toby's complete lack of training, adequate weaponry, or, you know, _armor_.

The only relief from the constant stress, ironically, was his need to keep his nocturnal expeditions from his mother. As long as he had to be _in bed_ enough for her to think he wasn't sneaking out in the middle of the night, he could catch an hour or two of sleep, just about enough to keep from collapsing in school.

But tonight, he was breaking into a museum. It was getting easier, Jim mused as he hopped from the roof of the library to that of the museum, to disregard signs like 'No Entry' or 'Authorized Personnel Only'. Archimedes had tried to explain the situation with a long lecture on the nature of morality, ethics, and...natural law, maybe? Jim had decided the gist of the lecture was that because Jim couldn't expect his enemies to obey the signs, he couldn't worry about it himself. Obviously, there was still the problem with the alarms, but...well, every system had its flaws.

Usually human flaws, ultimately. Guards who liked to keep doors propped open to go out for a smoke. People who forgot to lock doors. Like tonight. People didn't expect a lot of activity on the roof of a suburban California museum, so the roof access was unlocked.

Jim moved as stealthily as he could as he descended into the museum (Archimedes had found him a tutorial on stealth and camouflage on Youtube, the owl having apparently determined the website contained the accumulated wisdom of humanity, which might have been true, but Jim had found Archimedes watching Let's Plays, which decidedly did not). He paused at the entrance to one of the galleries, listening for the movements of the guards. It took a moment before he heard it - high voices chattering in the middle distance. He found the stairs and took them cautiously. The voices were still going when he reached the floor below, so he followed them. It was odd that as he drew closer the voices didn't resolve into anything he could understand - it barely sounded like real words.

When he reached a 'Restricted Access' sign set next to a canvas sheet dividing the part of the museum people could be in and the part they couldn't, Jim made several unfortunate discoveries.

The first was when he picked out the Trollspeak word for 'dead', meaning the speakers were either trolls or someone who worked closely with them.

The second was there were more than a few of them.

The third, as he slipped up close enough to peer beyond the canvas, was that the goblin (goblin **s** ) weren’t here to steal something. They were here to build something.

“A bridge?”

“Oh, yes. It’s central to our next exhibition, one you might be familiar with, _Trollhunter_.”

Jim rolled forward as soon as he registered the voice behind him. He was good at this - not thinking fast, but _reacting_ fast.

_Mushin_ , Archimedes had called it, the state certain martial artists and monks reached where they could act without thought. Jim would have been more pleased with the assessment had Archimedes not declared this after Jim proved hopeless at reading a fight the way Archimedes thought he should.

Regardless of whether it upset Archimedes, it was how Jim was bouncing to his feet as the curator, Miss Nomura, twisted, her form shifting to that of a tall violet creature with pointed ears (was this a troll, or something else? Jim hadn’t met enough trolls to tell). A brace of knives flew from her hands, almost fast enough to track Jim as he bolted out of her way. If he could get to the stairs-

“Wakka chaka!” Jim changed direction, aiming for the coin room, when half a dozen goblins burst from the stairwell. Something sank into his thigh, and he stumbled. He spared the split-second it took to look, finding a short, slim blade stuck in his leg. If he weren’t the child of a doctor, he might have pulled it out without assessing how close to an artery it was.

As it was, he limped hurriedly away from the goblins and Nomura (or were they just something pretending to be her?), ducking through an alcove holding Neolithic Man, and caught sight of an emergency exit.

He hit it at full speed, filling the museum with a blaring alarm; the pair of goblins who’d just drawn close to him screamed at the sound, covering their ears.

And then Jim was out in the dark (pointless if Nomura was a troll, or anything with night vision and a good nose), _bleeding_ , as if it weren’t easy enough to track him.

Well, not bleeding, exactly. Oozing; the wound still had the knife in it, and.

Jim darted into the alley nearest the movie theater, panting. Sirens drew closer, as human authorities responded to the break in or suspected fire or what. It was a lucky break, Jim thought; whatever Nomura was up to, she had to keep it secret, and that meant she was probably going to be held up corralling the cops until everything checked out.

Which meant Jim could.

Get.

Home.

_Fuck_.

He’d accumulated a few bruises and scrapes along the way, nothing that couldn’t be easily explained, but enough to discover that Archimedes, while a magical owl, wasn’t a healing owl. It was _blood magic_ , Archimedes had explained darkly.

So his options were.

Hope the wound wasn’t bad and stitch it himself.

Try to get Toby to do it.

Go to the hospital and make it easy for Nomura (how many shapes did she have?) to find him.

Or.

His mind slipped a little; Jim was vaguely aware he was going into shock.

Or.

He wasn’t Spiderman. He couldn’t do this alone.

Or.

There was a pouch in the armor, enough to hold his phone. Jim’s hand slipped a few times on it, but he wasn’t certain his voice was steady enough to use voice commands.

He tapped a contact. It rang once. Twice.

“Hey, mom?”

—-

Jim had been tense the last few weeks. Strickler couldn’t relate, obviously, but he’d been tense, too. The Order operations in Arcadia were among those most subservient to Gunmar, and having Bular hanging around, _looming_ , brought to mind some comic Strickler had seen from time to time. A boss with pointy hair like horns who didn’t understand at all what his employees did? That sounded like it.

But when Jim slipped into his office after school, he looked.

Calmer, Strickler thought, though he was moving cautiously.

“You didn’t get into another fight with Mr. Palchuk, did you?”

Jim snorted. “No.” He settled in the chair Strickler set just next to his desk, to make it clear this wasn’t a disciplinary meeting. Though it was not quite a friendly chat.

Still. Strickler felt a thrill of worry. Bular had promised to keep his hunts to adults; it was easier to make it seem an adult had packed up and left without warning than a child.

Or, at least, it drew less attention.

He wondered, briefly, if the old pigeon had picked a child for that exact reason. Someone the Order would hesitate to attack with the same ferocity they would an adult.

“I told you the contents of our discussions would remain private, but if I am concerned for your safety, either at school or at home-“

Jim’s eyes widened. “No, I’m-“ He paused, giving a wry smile. “No one’s hurting me at home or school. I was just - running around somewhere I shouldn’t last night and ugh, it just. I’ve been really stupid lately.”

Strickler gave Jim a gentle smile, picking up his pen to twist it absently. “Making a mistake doesn’t have to make you stupid. Making the _same_ mistake, over and over, might make a case for it. Mistakes are how we learn. Some people are lucky enough to learn from others’ mistakes, but most of us have to learn from our own.”

And hadn’t Strickler made _his_ share of mistakes? For one, you didn’t owe the person who brought you into this world _anything_. It would have been nice to have learned that earlier.

Jim huffed. “It sounds easy when you’re sitting there all ‘Mr. Rogers’ saying stuff like that, but I still feel - stupid. Overwhelmed.”

“You look...happier, though. Did something happen?”

“I…” Jim shifted, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

“Would you like me to guess? I’m afraid all that comes to mind is a-“ He paused, remembering Barbara’s concern, and that she probably knew Jim well enough not to wonder without foundation, “person you like asking you out.”

“No, I-“ Jim ducked his head. “I told my mom. About some of the stuff I’m going through. And she. It’s better. That I told her. But I still. I still want someone to talk to who’s not my mom, you know?”

It was a shock. Jim had come to him because his mother had known he was keeping something from her (keeping something from _Strickler_ , too, dancing around what was truly the matter). But that he found enough value in their conversations to continue even after coming clean with Barbara.

Well.

“I would be honored, Young Atlas.”

Strickler was feeling a little cheered when Jim left. He didn't wish to overestimate his influence, but the thought that he might have helped Jim open up to his mother felt buoying.

So of course Nomura chose that moment to call him.

"We've got a problem." No introduction. No pleasantries. Just brutal, straight-forward. Useful in the field, but. They weren't _trolls_. He decided to respond with an inquisitive noise, because those sorts of hums irritated Nomura. "Are you listening?"

" _Yes_."

"The Trollhunter found the Bridge."

"You mean he stumbled across the place you had cleverly concealed it?"

Nomura did not rise to the bait. "He saw the _Bridge_ , Stricklander. The pigeon already suspected something, but hearing about _that_ -"

"I don't suppose _you_ got a good look at him."

"I don't know. A kid. Skinny. Athletic. I winged him with one of my knives."

"Then get someone to check out the local hospitals."

Nomura growled. "Then _you_ can see if anyone else caught him on their security cameras."

Strickler sighed. They didn't record the security footage at the museum; the last thing any of them needed was recorded evidence of the existence of trolls. But it meant they had no images of the Trollhunter that Strickler might be able to review to identify their foes (well, one of them, but they all knew Draal. They knew how to deal with him. Call Bular and eventually the problem would solve itself).

It meant he spent two hours lying through his teeth to get access to the security footage of every building within sight of the museum, and another 45 minutes fruitlessly fast-forwarding through said footage.

And one moment when he found it. A teenager in silver armor darting away from the museum.

"Is that what you're looking for?"

Some people thought changelings were liars by nature. They they pretended to be people, or pretended to be trolls. That they were traitors and couldn't be trusted.

And to a degree, this was correct. Growing up as a changeling, you were told you would spend much of your life lying to others, and that made it vitally important that you not lie to yourself. 

You had to decide where your loyalties lay, what lines you would not cross.

"Yes. I don't suppose you'd let me have the tape, would you?"

The proprietor of the small cafe shrugged. "Didn't look like there was anything else on there. Go ahead."

Things had been complicated when Strickler had joined the Janus Order, and then the… _other_ Order. He was either a triple agent or a quadruple agent, a traitor to probably everyone he had ever known, so it was doubly important Strickler know what principles he wanted to live by.

Strickler stopped at the school, finding his way to his office. There set the tape on his desk and sat. He stared at the tape for...a time.

Strickler did not make promises often.

Because breaking a promise...was his line.

He snapped the video in half with a brief motion, and then, fastidiously, began shredding the magnetic tape until there was nothing but small black fragments of plastic setting on his desk, and this, he bagged and took to the furnace in the basement where he cemented his status as a traitor by utterly destroying the tape, which contained an image of Jim Lake Jr. dressed in the Armor of Daylight.

_Whatever he could_. He'd not promised _nearly_ so much to Gunmar, and as for his other duties, well.

It could be worse for changelings than to have the Trollhunter in their debt.


	7. Interspecies Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara Lake demands answers. Jim gets some.

"So," Jim's mom said evenly, "start at the beginning." She hadn't asked many questions when stitching Jim up, or even in response to his halting explanation of the situation. But that was clearly because she'd spent the entire next day considering how to conduct the interrogation.

"Again?" Archimedes complained.

" _Yes_ ," she said, voice dropping a few notes, taking on an edge Jim had _never_ heard in his life. " _You're_ the one who's insisting I have to allow my _fifteen-year-old son_ to run around at all hours of the night risking his life to kill an _eight-foot-tall_ man made of _living stone_. So yes. I would like the most _thorough_ explanation possible."

Archimedes gulped, shifting anxiously on Jim's desk (he made a note to remember to find the perch for Archimedes his mother was certain was somewhere in the attic).

"Gunmar the Black, trapped within the Darklands by Tiffany the E'er-Prepared, has charged his son Bular with bringing him back to the surface so he and his army of Gumm-Gumms may ravage across the surface, eating humans, pillaging, et cetera."

"Okay, I got that much. Where does the 'endangering the life of my teenage son' enter the picture?"

Archimedes let his head drop, fluttering his wings anxiously. "That is...my fault. Merlin - the creator of the Amulet of Daylight - charged _me_ with seeking humans to accept the sacred charge of protecting humanity from the threat of Gunmar and other supernatural forces. After the last Trollhunter...died, I was to seek out James Lake. Which, um. I mistook your son for. Because his name is...um. Also James Lake."

Jim's mom narrowed her eyes. "And you said this isn't transferable because-"

"Because the Amulet magically bonds to its bearer!" Archimedes snapped. "The only way for your son to be free of this charge is through death, and you've made it clear you don't find _that_ resolution acceptable!" He dropped back, head ducking, under the force of Jim's mom's glare. "Which I really can't do anything about, and have I mentioned how truly sorry I am about my _inexcusable_ error?"

"Yes. But I wouldn't mind hearing it again." Jim's mom stabbed her pancakes and shoved a bite into her mouth.

"I am so, _so_ sorry-"

"So now. Let's talk about _Killahead_."

The story there was that ages ago, Tiffany the E'er-Prepared had taken advantage of the chaos of the Battle of Killahead to transform the bridge over the Killahead River into a portal to a world beyond the Shadow Realm, a pale reflection of the real world known as the Darklands. She had hurled Gunmar, and most of his followers, into the Darklands and shattered the bridge, and with it the only way to travel between the two realms. The fact that goblins were building a bridge inside the Arcadia Museum was convincing evidence Bular was trying to rebuild the gateway to allow his father to return to the surface world.

Which, okay, this was standard fantasy adventure fare. _Jim_ was focused on the explanation of what a _changeling_ was - a troll capable of taking on a human form, immune to the petrifying effects of the sun that normally kept trolls underground and capable of operating undetected in human society.

That would be worrying enough, but neither Merlin nor any Trollhunter had ever discovered a way to reliably determine whether someone _was_ a changeling. Luckily, no more than one in a thousand changelings had _more_ than one human form.

Was Nomura one of those? There was no way of knowing. Was anyone else he knew _also_ a changeling? Also impossible to know. The only thing they could be certain of was that one or more changelings were commanding an unknown number of goblins to gather pieces of the Killahead Bridge and reassemble it under the guise of legitimate archeology.

Jim's mom sat through the explanation, still, quiet, though Jim could see her hands clenched in her lap.

"...And what about the trolls?" she demanded. "You said there are good trolls. Why is _my son_ fighting _their_ battle?"

"Ah-"

"No, it's not fair making you explain it." She stood and held out an arm. "We're going to the source."

"Um."

"There's a _cage_ upstairs," Jim's mom said menacingly.

Archimedes fluttered back, landing on the back of the couch as he did so. "You don't understand! I can't even get into Trollmarket, and even if I could, the _best_ reception we could hope for is them summoning...well, I assume it would be Draal at this point, to politely but firmly eject us."

He gave a thoughtful pause. "But it might be...unwise to allow James to meet Draal."

Jim's mom shook her head. She was smiling, almost gently. But Jim, who'd seen her browbeat the entire hospital board into submission, recognized the steel in her gaze. "I'm not really interested in excuses. So they won't let us into Trollmarket. Find someone who can get us a meeting with whoever's in charge there." She never said 'or else' when she got like this. 'Or else' put too much focus on the world where they didn't do what she wanted.

Archimedes raised a wing, as if he were considering protesting. But he paused, tilted his head, thinking. "There… _is_ a troll who might be able to convince Vendel to see you. And he _is_ likely to be...less hostile toward you." He shifted in place, clearly still anxious. "It might take some time, though - even _he_ doesn't get out much."

"Well, we've got time, especially since Jim's grounded until we work this whole thing out."

Jim sighed, a little relieved. He'd been waiting for this since his mom had finished stitching up his leg. He'd expected an explosion, but his mom was apparently reserving her anger for the people (owl) who'd got him into this mess. And...Jim wasn't even certain if this was supposed to be a punishment for him, anyway. His mom knew he'd been exhausted, had seen the bruises, and, of course, the knife buried in his leg. Taking him out of the picture for a while, while Archimedes tried to get him _backup_ , felt less like a punishment, and more like a - a breather. A vacation.

He wasn't naïve enough to think this was the end of his Trollhunting, and knew his mom knew that, too; she grabbed him once Archimedes fluttered off in a huff, hugging Jim as close as she could. When she pulled back, her eyes were a little wet.

This was as good a time to ask the question Jim had wanted to ever since he'd given her his first halting explanation of all this. "Are you...mad?"

Jim's mom exhaled, her breath a little shaky, as she took a step back (but not more than that, hands still on Jim's shoulders). "I don't know. Hearing you're running around at night getting knives thrown at you, it's not _easy_ , Jim. Hearing I can't make you stop without making things worse for both of us is...it's my job to watch out for you, Jim. I worry when you run around cooking for me, this is...so much more." Jim guided her to the couch, where she settled, apparently unnoticing, as her shoulders began to shake, and he realized she was crying. 

He hadn't seen her cry since his dad had left; it took a moment of panic before he decided what he needed to do was what _Toby_ would do, and hugged her, sitting with her as she worked through it. If his eyes were wet afterward, neither of them needed to talk about it.

Later, Facetiming with Toby, Jim explained a little, surprised when Toby started laughing.

"It's not funny; my mom's really upset!"

"I'm just - you remember when I convinced you you could jump from your roof to the tree in your yard?"

"Yeah?"

"Your mom was _livid_. I was scared she was going to take me apart and put me back together so she could take me apart again! Doctor Lake is _scary_. I'm just wondering how long it'll be before she goes after Bular herself."

Jim's chest clenched. "Don't say things like that. Bular's...dangerous. She can't-"

"Oh, hey, whoa, sorry. I was joking, man. Your mom's smart. She's not going after some giant troll on her own." Toby sighed, frowning at the bottom of the screen. "I was getting worried about you all on your own, Jimbo. Worried you were gonna just keel over one day, or get hurt, or worse out there, and we'd never know for sure what...I'm _glad_ she isn't gonna let you go out there yourself anymore."

"Honestly? So am I." Telling his mom, talking to Strickler, felt like so much of the weight he'd been struggling with himself (it wasn't that Toby didn't _count_ , just that he was a teenager, too, couldn't do anything to make things easier) was gone. Not so much Young Atlas anymore as...a kid with responsibilities. Big, weighty responsibilities, but not so scary, now.

A week later, Jim was almost caught up with everything at school, was as well-rested as he'd ever managed before, such that Strickler made note of it when Jim came by his office after after school.

"You look...lighter, today," he mused.

Jim shrugged, then nodded. "My mom - she knows I've been pushing myself hard and she's trying to get me - help."

Strickler nodded, twisting his pen, before the motion stilled. He peered at Jim carefully. "Someone to help you with…"

"All this extra stuff I was getting myself worked up about." Strickler had said he had to tell someone if he thought Jim was in danger, and 'in danger' didn't even _begin_ to describe what Trollhunting had done to him.

"I...see." Strickler took a steady breath. "You should be careful when looking to others for help, Young Atlas. Sometimes we can allow ourselves to be blinded by what we believe others can do for us, and forget what they might want from us."

"Yeah," Jim mused, before perking up. "What do _you_ want, Mr. Strickler?"

Strickler chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "A fair question. I think what everyone wants. A world I can feel comfortable in. Respect." He glanced at Jim, must have seen his puzzled expression, because he flushed. "You meant from _you_. I wish to provide all of my students the tools to live well after they have left my classroom. I would like to ensure your extracurricular life doesn't interfere too much in your schooling. I wouldn't have agreed to speak with you if I didn't care about your well-being."

It was something to think about when Jim arrived home and Archimedes was perched on the kitchen counter, fluffed up in the way he was when he wanted to look important.

"You got someone to talk to you," Jim guessed.

Archimedes fluttered in place, irritated. "You couldn't even allow me to be the one to give you the news? Yes, Vendel has agreed to meet with you. But-"

"Shouldn't we wait for my mom to talk about this?" Jim pushed past Archimedes to retrieve the hummus he'd been letting settle in the refrigerator, and the bag of carrots he was certain was in there.

"Well, this is a time-sensitive meeting-"

"That my _mom_ asked you to set up." Jim settled against the counter, holding the bowl of hummus in one hand as he grabbed a carrot stick, dipped it in, and crunched it aggressively. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" Archimedes protested. "I guess I just...forgot she was a part of this. Normally, Trollhunters don't share their identity with outsiders." He sounded almost disapproving at that.

"Yeah, well, normally, Trollhunters are old enough to sign legally-binding documents. If there were a court that decided how this stuff worked, my mom'd be _there_ instead of asking you to help her yell at trolls."

"...Yell?" Archimedes had edged closer, probably thinking he was being subtle about his desire for a carrot. "That isn't wise; trolls are very honor-bound. And Vendel-"

Jim pitched a hummus-covered carrot at Archimedes, who caught it neatly in his beak, though he glowered at Jim as he grabbed the free end in a wing that somehow acted like a hand and ate the carrot in a few sharp bites.

"Save it for when Mom's home." 

Archimedes looked mutinous, but with the bribe of hummus and carrots and, once Jim got to cooking, breaded chicken pieces, he was at least quiet about it.

He was, however, all but vibrating, so that when Jim's mom returned, Archimedes launched himself at her. "Barbara!"

She grabbed Archimedes out of the air and gave him a level stare. "Dr. Lake. _Friends_ call me Barbara. Roommates who got my son involved in - _whatever_ we call this nonsense - call me Dr. Lake."

Archimedes fluttered until Jim's mom let him go, then alighted on the couch. "I was able to reach Vendel, chief of Heartstone Trollmarket. He will meet you at a...slightly neutral location. But he has insisted he be allowed his bodyguards." He fluffed up his feathers, snapping at the air, looking anxious, Jim thought. "One will certainly be Draal - he has no love in his heart for the Trollhunter. The other…" Archimedes shifted from foot to foot, and Jim could feel anxiety clawing through his chest. _Bular_ made Archimedes that nervous. 

"Vendel's one of the good guys. What's wrong with his bodyguard?"

"Aarghaumont the Pitiless. He was a Gumm-Gumm. Gunmar's _right hand_. Whatever _side_ he's on, he's vicious - a _killer_. And whatever _Vendel_ says, it's clear he threw his lot in with them because he's trapped here, the same as Bular."

Jim's mom hummed, mouth set in a flat line. "Well, that's a bridge to burn when we get to it. Where's this meeting?"

"There's a bridge in the canals, the entrance to Trollmarket."

"And from your agitation, I'm guessing it's tonight."

Archimedes shrugged. Jim's mom sighed. "Well, let's get going."

The canals, more or less innocuous when it wasn't raining, were cast in deeper shadow than the streets higher up. As Jim stepped out of the car, his mom held out a hand, pausing before they approached.

"If things go bad, Jim. _Run_."

"What?" Archimedes' grim evaluation of Aarghaumont made it clear that if things went bad, Jim's mom would _need_ him.

"She's right. The Amulet of Daylight is more important than the life of any one human."

"Shut up!" Jim snapped, chest tight, stomach twisting. "You can't talk about my _mom_ like that!"

Archimedes, perched on the hood of the car, spread his wings, puffing up to look close to twice his size. "What do you think would happen if a Gumm-Gumm got his hands on the Amulet of Daylight? If Draal saw fit to keep the Amulet from its next bearer?"

"That _aside_ ," Jim's mom stepped up close to him, reaching her hand up to brush across his cheek, "it's _not_ your job to keep me safe, Jim."

"When it comes to trolls-"

" _I'm_ still your mother. Your safety is still _my_ job." Jim's mom pulled him in, arms tight around him; he felt a brief flare of frustration before he leaned into the embrace. Because as much as Jim wanted to argue he could handle this…

He couldn't. It had been what had driven him to tell his mom about the Trollhunting in the first place.

"I'll go," Jim muttered. "If you tell me to."

His mom gave him a final squeeze before she stepped back. Her smile was...faint, almost not there, but she turned to walk down the slopes to the ground below, so Jim had to follow. As they walked, Jim thought he could see shapes, dark against the shadows. He narrowed his eyes, trying to pick out specific shapes - which one would be the dread Aarghaumont, and which Draal.

"Ah! _There_ you are."

Jim summoned his armor in the shocked split-second of surprise at the voice behind him. His mother swung up with a - was that a _tire iron_ \- hitting something with a clang and a pained shout.

"Blinky!" A huge shape like a boulder burst from under the bridge, rolling toward Jim's mom with shocking speed. Jim summoned Daylight, the blade still an uneasy weight in his hand-

"Stop!" A creature - not so hulking as the boulder, but with horns spread like a ram or goat - hobbled up the incline, aided by a long staff made of a crystal glowing a warm orange. The rolling form stopped, hopping to uncurl into a huge troll - one more craggy, including hair that looked like moss, than the other. A slightly smaller troll, blue, swaggered after the one with the staff. The one with the staff passed the larger one, giving Jim's mom a long look before turning to Jim. "You may dismiss your blade, Trollhunter. Blinkous is hardly a threat to you, and unless your companion intends to keep assaulting him, neither will Aaarrrgghh."

The troll's (probably Vendel) words gave Jim a moment to take in the scene, and the creature his mother had attacked. It was another troll, shorter than the others but still towering over Jim, with six eyes, squinted in pain, four arms, probing at a prominent red nose that - was possibly broken. Aaarrrgghh (Aarghaumont?) shuffled toward them, giving Jim's mom a wide berth, as the troll who was probably Vendel reached the top of the canals.

Archimedes landed on Jim's shoulders with a flurry, and leaned in close. "Keep a close eye on him," he muttered, glancing at Aaarrrgghh.

Jim did, but found Aaarrrgghh's actions a little confusing, for someone Archimedes had dubbed 'pitiless'. He was sniffing at the troll Vendel had called Blinkous, muttered something in Trollspeak, to which Blinkous shook his head, smiling. Aaarrrgghh looked like Toby when Jim got hurt - circling to make sure he was okay, or at least be nearby if he wasn't.

Jim's mom had lowered the tire iron, and was watching Vendel with a cautious, neutral expression. Her eyes flicked to Aaarrrgghh and Blinkous, and Jim was certain she was thinking the same thing as he was.

"I'm not Jim's companion - I'm his mother. Dr. Lake."

"Vendel, chieftain of Heartstone Trollmarket." Vendel reached out a hand; it dwarfed Jim's mom's, but she didn't seem to notice, shaking his hand. "And this is Aarghaumont, Draal, and you've met Blinkous."

"I do apolodise if I sdardled you, ma'am." Blinkous scowled at their own words, hearing them muffled through their severely bruised, at best, nose.

"No, it's. Well, You're very large, and you _did_ sneak up on me. I could take a look at it, see if I can do anything?" She took a step, reflexive, Jim knew, toward the injured troll.

"We shouldn't be out here," Draal grumbled. "The Trollhunter, an Eclipse Knight, _and_ the leader of Trollmarket?"

"Well, unless you've got a conference room stashed under that bridge, the only other option is _my_ house, and…" Jim's mom scanned the trolls. "It might be a little cramped."

"Well," Blinkous started, only for a glare from Draal to shut him up.

"No fleshbag, much less the _Trollhunter_ , has _ever_ set foot in Trollmarket, and none _will_ so long as I draw breath."

"Blinky," Aaarrrgghh started; Blinkous made a hissing noise and slapped a hand over his mouth.

Ignoring that exchange, Jim's mom leveled a glare at Draal. "Well, if you don't want to meet out here, and don't want to meet in Trollmarket, and, I'm just extrapolating here, you don't want to meet in some 'fleshbag's' house, what do you suggest?"

"I was against this meeting from the beginning."

"Bendel," Blinkous said, pushing away Aaarrrgghh's hands and stepping toward Vendel. "We habe nod had an obbordunidy do dread with de Drollhunder since de _beginning_. Dink whad-"

" _Thank you_ , Blinkous." Vendel turned, peering down at Jim's mom, gaze sliding to Jim. "I think it would be best to take them with us to Heartstone Trollmarket. I am _aware_ of your objections, Draal, but Blinkous is right. This is the first time the Trollhunter has come to us in the spirit of open communication. We should seize this opportunity, however it might make you feel."

Draal glowered at Vendel, briefly opening his mouth, as if to bare his fangs, before he turned abruptly. "Fine. But _no one's_ going to like this."

"That is _my_ burden to bear," Vendel retorted. He held out a hand to Jim's mom. "Dr. Lake?"

"Thanks," Jim's mom replied, before tightening her grip on her tire iron and picking her way down the slope. Jim followed, dismissing Daylight as he went. It seemed superfluous in the face of two hulking trolls and his mother on high alert.

The group sorted itself into its two factions as they followed Vendel, though Draal rolled down the slope ahead of them, scouting the distance between them and the bridge as they went. Jim was about to ask, as they reached the underside of the bridge, how they were expecting to get to Trollmarket, when Aaarrrgghh produced a strange glowing rock and ran it along the stone under the bridge. It left a glowing line, and when he had drawn an arc from ground to ground, the stone of the walls began glowing and cracked, shattered, leaving a doorway into a stairway glittering with thousands of crystal shards.

Jim took a step forward without thinking, peering down along the curving stairwell, before his mom's hand settled on his free shoulder. Archimedes, less restrained, leaned toward the cavern until he lost his balance, scrabbling for a hold on Jim's armor before taking to the air, alighting heavily on the ground. The trolls passed through the entrance, moving easily, unconcerned with the lights dancing around them. At the threshold, though, Blinkous paused, turned, central two eyes wide.

"Dr. Lake. Trollhunter! Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Heartstone Trollmarket. Or its antechamber, at least. Come, as Draal so inelegantly put it, you will be the first humans our chieftain has welcomed into our home."

That was _not_ what Draal had said, Jim noted. Aaarrrgghh had almost protested Draal's assessment.

Someone, it seemed, had a secret.

But now was not the time to sow discord between Vendel and an apparently trusted friend, if Blinkous' presence at this meeting was any indication.

Instead, Jim took his time examining the crystals surrounding them as they walked down the spiral path to Trollmarket. Everything glowed, illuminating the gems set within the walls, and the shining path they walked on. It was fantastic, the sort of grandeur Jim would have expected from kings, emperors.

Not the sort of thing you'd find buried under a bridge.

He doubted it was supposed to be this way.

That sense increased when they reached Trollmarket itself. The buildings looked scavenged, piles of abandoned or trashed human artifacts scattered about (a stack of TVs all playing static) - the only impressive part of it was the massive crystal set at the very heart of the settlement. The 'Heartsone' that made this Heartstone Trollmarket, Jim guessed.

Trolls - creatures in more shapes and sizes than mere humans came in - walked the streets, but on seeing their group, most froze to stare, drew away, or made whispered comments to one another. _None_ of them looked happy. Jim found himself shadowing his mother; while Toby might have (almost) convinced him he could take Bular (maybe, someday), he couldn't take on this many trolls if they decided to attack him.

And they looked like they wanted to. Archimedes was huddled on Jim's shoulder - he kept slipping from shoulder to shoulder, apparently to avoid any direct attention.

Blinkous and Vendel were holding an intense conversation, and instead of walking to the Heartstone, which Jim might have expected, they diverted down an alley. Aaarrrgghh settled next to a low doorway, through which Vendel and Draal ducked. Blinkous paused, turning to Jim.

"I do apologize for the mess. If I'd expected we would be holding a conference of such importance in my library, I would have made an effort to clean. As it is-"

"Hey, I understand." Jim's mom patted Blinkous' shoulder. "You think _my_ house was company-ready? Heck, I probably don't even have troll-appropriate snacks!"

"Oh Deya!" Blinkous slapped his forehead. " _Food_! I don't have any nourishment - or none for humans, anyway! Unless - can you eat plastic?"

Jim shook his head. " _Damn_!"

"It's fine; I've got dinner at home," Jim replied. But because he was curious, added, "What _do_ trolls eat?"

Blinkous waved them in after him as he chattered. "Trolls are functionally omnivorous, but do not receive much nutrition from vegetable matter. Minerals, and animal by-products are preferred."

"People, right?"

"Goodness, no! By the Great Accord, which divided Gumm-Gumm and right-thinking troll, we abandoned such a brutal practice ages ago! We...do, though, eat human socks."

"I don't want to know, do I?" Jim's mom asked, as they stepped out of the narrow staircase from the main room of the building, which-

Well, Blinkous maybe should be a _little_ ashamed. There wasn't a flat surface that wasn't covered in books except several of the actual bookshelves. The warm light cast by several crystals on the walls and set on a desk gave the room, though built to a scale at least twice Jim's, a cozy feel. Vendel was standing behind one of the desks, Draal standing tall behind him.

"So," Vendel began. "I must admit we are curious why you insisted we meet, Dr. Lake."

"Curious?" Jim's mom asked. " _Curious_? You can't figure out why I've dragged my son - a _child_ \- who's been drafted into your stupid war - down here to talk to the people who _should_ be handling this problem _themselves_? Fine! I will _tell_ you why I'm here! I am here because fighting Bular - Gunmar - and his whole army of Gummies - is _not_ my son's job!"

"With all due respect, Dr. Lake, your son clearly accepted the mantle of the Trollhunter-"

"He is a _child_! This is _your_ war! _Your_ problem! It's been going on for hundreds of years - Archimedes said you can live _centuries_ \- and none of _you_ have fixed the problem. So either you're sitting here expecting _my son_ to do something that is _clearly_ beyond him, or you're shoving the results of your own incompetence on a _child_!"

" _Excuse me_?" Draal snarled. "I am not incompetent. My _father_ was not incompetent! He was constantly hindered by the Trollhunter, until it got him _killed_!"

" _None_ of that has anything to do with my son! I came to you for _help_ , to ask you to pick up the slack here so a _child_ isn't stuck trying to clean up _your_ mess!"

Draal growled deep in his throat, taking a heavy step toward Jim's mom. "If you are questioning my skills, those of my _father_ -"

"I'm questioning the skills of your entire _species_ , frankly. How many of you are there? Dozens in this settlement alone. And what - _one_ Bular?"

"Tread carefully, fleshbag."

"No. You want to call me fleshbag? You want to treat me like I'm less than you? _Prove it_."

"Mom, no-"

"You heard her!" Draal snapped, turning to Vendel. "She _challenged_ me!"

"Draal, she does not know our customs-"

"No, you want to fight, Draal? _Fine_."

Things spiraled after that. For all of Archimedes' bluster, being the Trollhunter meant _nothing_ to these people; he couldn't catch anyone's attention, and his mother was too worked up to listen. People - trolls - came to gather in a place called the Hero's Forge, which was a wide earthen field with a great stone troll set at its center. Jim was shoved to the edge of the arena, lost for a moment in a crowd of creatures, the shortest of which were still a foot or more taller than him.

And then something grabbed his shoulder. Jim yelped and spun, Daylight not quite coming to his hand, which was good, because skewering Blinkous would have not helped things.

"Come along, Trollhunter. We will find a place to watch."

"But my mom's going to-"

"Fight Draal, yes," Blinkous agreed.

"My mom can't fight Draal! He's like - and she's-"

"Is she not a warrior?"

Jim shook his head. "She's a _doctor_."

"Oh dear. If that is the case, it was unwise of her to challenge Draal to a fight to the death."

"The _death_?" Jim lunged, only for Blinkous to grab his shoulder and pull him back. He struggled, briefly considering summoning Daylight, but that would be declaring war on all of Trollmarket, which he couldn't do right now. He could do that when-

When his mother _died_?

"Blinkous, let me _go_ -"

" _Tar a-mach_ ," Archimedes snapped, and Jim slipped free of Blinkous' grip, only to slam into-

_Aarghaumont_.

"Your mother not die," Aarghaumont said in a deep rumble. "Fighter."

"She's a _doctor_."

"Fights _death_ ," Aarghaumont said with a shrug. "Can't be beat. Still does it." He looked out across the field. "Draal can be beat."

It was...well, it wasn't comforting, because nothing, apparently, could make you feel better about your mother about to get into a deathmatch with a giant blue troll. But.

That wasn't the advice Jim had expected to get from an ex-man-eating troll.

Which. He wondered how you asked about that. How long has it been since you stopped eating people? Are you just biding time until your dread lord returns to the real world?

But he had other things to worry about. His _mom_ fighting a troll to the _death_.

"Guys? What happens if my mom doesn't want to kill him?"

"I couldn't say; there's no precedent for a challenge not ending in death for...at least one of the participants."

Jim swallowed, trying to fight down the panic that statement inspired in him. Because we wasn't certain his mother could bring herself to kill Draal, even if he were trying to kill her.

But then his mother stepped up to the rack of weapons at the edge of the field, hefting a few, testing, before picking up a large - quarterstaff or something. She turned to where Draal was swinging twin swords (each nearly a large as Jim, _fuck_ ), hefting her staff before nodding.

"Are you ready?" she shouted. Jim had never seen her like this, angry, restless, _like Jim_.

Draal just snarled, and without further prompting, jumped forward, rolling into a ball and charging at her.

Jim's mom slid aside at the last moment, kicking-

She stumbled, rolled, as Draal changed direction in response to her step, ran against her foot when she tried to kick. She was on her feet suddenly, and Draal rolled at her again. She sidestepped, and again, catching Draal perpendicular to his roll when he changed direction the first time; he spun back, slamming into the central pillar. As he broke out of the ball shape, Jim's mom closed in, slamming the staff down.

The whole point of most weapons was to multiply force. Take a swing of the arm and turn it into the plummet of a hammerhead. Take a thrust of the fist and turn it into force enough to pierce skin made of stone.

Her first target was the second Jim had learned from her.

Instep. As she danced back away from the swing of Draal's twin blades, Jim's mom crouched low. Draal moved as if to follow, stumbling on uneven footing.

Jim's mom stepped back in, slamming the staff up at Draal's chest.

Or.

The first Jim had learned. Solar plexus.

Draal doubled over from the shock of the blow, and.

The blow sent him reeling back, grabbing at his face ( _nose_ ), and then Jim's mom stepped in; for a moment, he was certain she was going for the last target ( _SING_ was the acronym, and not unlike Archimedes' advice), but she slammed the staff into his chest again, sending Draal back, unbalancing him enough to fall, and then two sweeps of the staff disarmed him, and Jim's mom was perched on Draal's chest, staff pointed at his throat.

"Yield," she snarled.

The arena was silent. Shocked. Jim couldn't doubt they'd never seen a duel end this quickly.

Or they were waiting for the moment Jim's mom would finish the job.

Because Blinkous had said none of these fights had ever ended without someone dying.

" _Kill me_ ," Draal grunted.

"I took an oath," Jim's mom retorted. "I'll fight, Draal, and I'll fight _hard_. I can make you regret ever being _born_. But I won't kill. Not you. Not _anyone_." She bent down, and said something in Draal's ear, too soft for anyone else to hear.

There was no sound for a moment, the tension a physical clenching of Jim's heart.

And then,

"I yield."

A groan rose from the audience, disappointment, maybe. Maybe they'd wanted to see a fleshbag splattered all over the arena.

But it was clear the fight was over.

\---

"You can't rely on lucky breaks like that for the rest of your career." Jim was dreaming, he knew. But there was an edge to his senses, an immediacy to the moment, that made it feel more real. He was seated in a space much like a library, at a small table like the ones at school. A woman, heavyset, dark-haired, dark eyed, sat across from him. Her face was set in a serious expression, lips pressed together, almost frowning at him.

"What?"

"Your mother dragging you down to meet the trolls. _Fighting_ them for you. I know Kanjigaar's line - Draal would have found a way to challenge _you_ if your mother hadn't challenged him first."

"What? Who _are_ you?"

"Who am I? Tiffany, and I hope you'll find it's in your best interest to listen to my advice. More than _Sloane_ , certainly."

"I saved the lives of half a dozen Trollhunters!" A man, as pale as Tiffany was dark, looming despite his slim stature, glowered at Jim with sharp blue eyes. "You know as well as I do that complacence is the greatest enemy of the Trollhunter!"

"It is lack of preparedness - _incompetence_ ," Tiffany retorted. She shoved a stack of books across the table to Jim. "You should read these, at least. The history of trollkind, their biology, their weaknesses. Your mother took one look at Draal and knew how to defeat him. You should be able to do the same."

"But he shouldn't have been in that situation to begin with! Never should have trusted those monsters to drag him underground like that!"

"You don't believe learning about the trolls, about their culture, would help him? He's the first Trollhunter to set _foot_ in a Trollmarket!"

"Putting himself at that much risk is unacceptable!" Sloane slammed his hands on the table, and Tiffany rose to a height of about five feet six inches, glowering up at him.

"How about you stop swinging your hands around like that and talk like a rational human being?"

"Ooh! I'm Tiffany the E'er-Prepared, and I can't handle people yelling at me!"

"Oh, are we taunting people now?"

"Not people, just _you_!"

The two Trollhunters (Jim supposed; Tiffany the E'er-Prepared was definitely one) began arguing in earnest. He looked around, hoping to find a way out, or at least something to pay attention to other than the bickering...people (ghosts?) at the desk.

When he looked back, it was to meet the eyes of someone who looked much closer to his age than Tiffany and Sloane, vibrant green, with a strange, faceted quality. Their hair was tied into a slender tail, glistening black like a raven's wing.

"You wanna get out of here?" the maybe-ghost asked. "Those two can spend _hours_ arguing like that." 

Jim looked back at them - Sloane was shouting something about the Hundred-Years War, which, yeah, indicated they could be there for a while.

"Sure. Um. Where?"

His surroundings blurred, resolving after a moment into a flat earthen yard set about with cloth dummies, several hillocks, and a dozen racks of weapons. The ghost strolled around these to drop onto a wide, high-backed bench, and patted the space next to them. Jim sat, feeling a little uncertain, Sloane's warning still with him.

"Um. Who are you? Where _are_ we?"

The ghost laughed. "We're inside your head." They paused, tapping at their chin. "Or, well. That's actually a lie. But probably the best way to explain it."

"You're in my _head_?" Jim demanded, feeling a flush of - anger, shock, a flutter of embarrassment that these three were privy to his actual thoughts.

The ghost shrugged. "Like I said, not exactly, but close enough for what you're feeling indignant about. We can't exactly see everything that goes on - unless you're feeling or thinking about something very intensely. And trust me when I say none of us are particularly happy about this arrangement, either."

It took a second before Jim's heart sank. "Another term and condition of Trollhunting?"

"Bingo," the ghost replied.

Jim sighed. "I don't think I'm going to tell my mom about this."

"I wouldn't." They sat like that for a few minutes. Jim glanced over at the ghost a few times, the gangly _youth_ who'd once been a Trollhunter.

"So, how'd you get roped into this gig? I mean - Archimedes said I was the youngest-"

"By a year or two, yeah. But the answer's Merlin. The answer's always Merlin." The ghost stood, stretching, careful, full-bodied, like a cat, before turning those sharp green eyes on Jim. "As annoying as it is, those two are right. You can't rely on your mom fighting your battles for you." He walked over to a rack of weapons, picked a heavy curved blade from it, and turned to Jim, grinning. "You wanna give it a go?"

Jim shrugged. "My mom said never to sword-fight with strangers."

The ghost's smile vanished. "She did _not_." Jim tilted his head, and could _see_ the ghost considering whether the woman who'd just single-handedly taken on a troll warrior _had_ warned her son against sword-fighting with strangers. "No," they concluded, shaking their head.

Jim grinned. "Nah, she didn't. But I can't just keep thinking of you as 'the ghost'."

"Call me Arthur, then," the ghost - the boy - said, swinging the blade, nearly as large as him, in a casual arc.

Jim felt a thrill through his chest. "Like _King_ Arthur?"

"What do you mean, _like_ King Arthur? It's the same name."

"Yeah, but are you - are _you_ King Arthur?"

Arthur laughed, a sharp, high note. "No. No. _Definitely_ not. Now, are we doing this?"

Jim held out his hand, calling forth Daylight from whatever nonspace it usually resided in, to the nonspace inside his head.

"I sort of hope you suck, because otherwise I'm going to get my ass kicked, and it's going to be embarrassing telling Toby I lost a swordfight with a ghost."

Arthur shrugged. "Well, let's see how well you do. And if you suck, we'll see if we can make you better." 

It was, oddly, the most reassuring thing Jim had heard since he'd taken the amulet from Archimedes.


	8. Hunting (Bad) Trolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armed with a gaggletack, Eli is out to solve all of Trollmarket's problems...if he doesn't get himself killed first.

"Good evening, Elijah."

Eli yelped and threw the bottle of laundry detergent at the source of the noise; luckily, it had been closed at the time, or he would have had to spend the next six hours cleaning detergent off of every surface in the basement.

A large hand snapped out and caught the bottle before it could run into what turned out to be Blinky, Aaarrrgghh standing just behind him. Aaarrrgghh waved at Eli, who waved back, the flare of adrenaline fading into a vague sense of weariness.

"What are you two _doing_ here?"

"An excellent question!" Blinky stepped forward and held out what looked like a rusty horseshoe.

"A gaggletack? I thought you already decided I _wasn't_ a changeling."

"This isn't for you, Elijah. Well, it is, in a way, although it is not _for_ you - we expect it back at some point." Elijah nodded, waiting at Blinky worked his way through his rambling. He usually got back to the point, and trying to force him off his train of thought ran the risk of losing the plot entirely.

Aaarrrgghh rumbled behind Blinky, and he paused, two pairs of eyes blinking, and his skin darkened (a blush?).

"Anyway. there is some… _concern_ among Trollmarket about the existence of changelings in Arcadia."

"You said you didn't believe in changelings!"

Blinky winced before shrugging. "Well, not didn't _believe_ \- I merely failed to see why Draal thought there were changelings in _Arcadia_. In any case, certain intelligence has suggested his concerns were not as unfounded as I believed them to be, and I volunteered - well, not volunteered, more like volun _told_ , because 'you don't have anything else going on, Blinkous'-"

"Blinky."

" _Anyway_ ," Blinky continued, as if Aaarrrgghh hadn't interrupted him, "we are looking into the matter, and I thought you would appreciate the opportunity to aid us in our investigations."

Eli literally forgot to breathe for several moments. "Really?" After he'd gotten over the worry he'd just imagined the trolls, he'd worried they thought he was some nuisance, or pest. But the chance to help them with _real troll problems_?

"Yes! Yeah." He grabbed the gaggletack, holding it tight to his chest. Next to the Phylactery (which Blinky had been suspiciously evasive about), this was the coolest thing he'd ever seen, even if he hadn't strictly seen it work (there were plenty of objects that wouldn't out a normal human as a changeling if they touched it). "What do I do? How does it work? _What happens if I find a changeling_ "

Blinky's eyes winked, one by one, as he considered. He turned to Aaarrrgghh. "I hadn't thought about that." He turned back to Eli, frowning. "A shapechanger whose skin touches a gaggletack will be forced into another form - if a changeling in human form, to their troll form, if in troll form, into their human form. It...may not be ideal for that to happen in a public place."

"Not alone, either."

"Yes, excellent point, Aaarrrgghh." Blinky looked over at Eli, and he clutched the gaggletack tighter; he couldn't fight them (didn't _want_ to) if they wanted the gaggletack back, but it would still be a disappointment.

"I can be careful - I can take care of myself!"

"Hmm," Aaarrrgghh rumbled. It was an odd, thoughtful sort of sound. Aaarrrgghh wasn't stupid; English was like his third language. But he _was_ quiet, and watchful, and cautious, so when he'd been thinking...well, it was usually worth listening. "Smart like _you_ , Blinky. Watch knights train. Know when to run."

"I…" Blinky's cheeks flushed. "That may well be true, but he's still a whel - a child. I couldn't in good conscience send him off to hunt changelings on his own."

"Trollhunter?"

"No, no. Absolutely not. That is a _mess_ , and I am not dragging Elijah into the middle of it."

"Wait - Trollhunter? What's that?"

"A human tasked with hunting - well, Gumm-Gumms, originally, but they've gotten a little off the track since then. I'm just thankful the Order of Dawn didn't get ahold of him." Blinky shook his head vigorously. "Right now, you are our friend, and while Vendel, while _Draal_ may not approve, it isn't - the Trollhunter isn't a _danger_ ; in fact, I think he _is_ just trying his best - but Draal doesn't trust him, and if you were the Trollhunter's friend, he wouldn't trust _you_ , changeling or not. No, I think it's best if you stay out of it."

Eli squeezed the gaggletack one more time. "So maybe...I should give the gaggletack back."

Blinky sagged, frowning as he held his hand back out. “Yes, I suppose. It was a _good_ idea,” he insisted, turning his disappointed scowl to Aaarrrgghh. He grabbed the horseshoe Eli handed back to him and folded his arms, a complicated entanglement that never failed to fascinate Eli.

“Did you have anything else to talk about? I had a list of questions-“

“No, I’m afraid we had come primarily for your assistance. Without it, we must really get back to planning how to investigate this changeling problem.”

“Oh.”

Blinky gave Eli a wide-eyed stare; he was still struggling to decipher troll expressions, so he guessed sad, or scared? "Not that I don't enjoy the time we spend together, Elijah! However, the safety of Heartstone Trollmarket is at risk, and that must take precedence over the time I spend with friends."

"Oh, I…" Eli bit at his lip, fighting the tears gathering at his eyes. It was a stupid thing to cry about, he knew, but he'd never _had_ a friend before (and wasn't about to share that fact with Blinky and Aaarrrgghh).

"Elijah?" Blinky looked, if anything, more panicked.

Aaarrrgghh though, stepped around Blinky, drew in closed, and grabbed him up into a tight, gentle hug. For all he was technically behind hugged by a rock, Eli leaned into it, finding it warm, soft where he was pressed against Aaarrrgghh's mossy mane.

"Mulder.”

Eli flushed at the nickname that Aaarrrgghh had latched onto when Eli had tried to explain his investigative endeavors; even though Aaarrrgghh didn’t have the context to know how it made Eli feel to get linked to Fox Mulder, it still gave him a thrill at feeling cool. He’d never had a nickname before ('Eli' didn't count; that was just shortening. 'Nerd', 'pansy', and 'loser' also did not count), but that was apparently a thing friends did.

“Don't worry about it, guys. You've got troll business to see to. I've got stuff to look up myself."

Blinky gave Eli a brief hug himself before the trolls left, at which point Eli headed up to his room and his lockbox, where he stuck the gaggletack. He'd been lucky the horseshoe he'd found online was close at hand when Blinky and Aaarrrgghh had shown up, otherwise no amount of skill at sleight-of-hand would have helped him steal it without them noticing.

He felt a _little_ guilty for taking the gaggletack. But Draal hadn't let him keep the Phylactery (which, sure, it was a family heirloom), and it wasn't like the gaggletack was _dangerous_. Besides, Blinky needed help, and Eli wasn't going to leave his new (only) friends in the lurch.

So the next day, only half of a plan in his mind, Eli went to school with a gaggletack in the pocket of his hoodie, heavy, slightly warm to the touch. Skin to metal was the rule, Blinky had said, so this would take some finesse (Eli wasn't concerned about a troll showing up at school. Humans were good at overlooking, forgetting, things that didn't fit into their worldview. They'd remember it as a bear or something, weird, sure, but nothing they didn't already believe existed).

Lucky Eli was a trained magician (sort of. He'd watched youtube tutorials). So walking into math class, he tapped a few suspects. Mary Wang was absorbed in playing Fruit Ninja, so barely noticed the tap against the back of her neck. Not a changeling. Shannon Longhannon looked up, startled, when the gaggletack brushed against her hand, but Eli was looking away, and the gaggletack out of sight when she did. Not a changeling.

Darci Scott didn't seem to stop moving, and after the second try, Eli realized he'd need another approach to avoid looking suspicious.

Especially because he'd apparently caught Steve Palchuk's attention, seeing the taller boy watching him from across the room, eyes narrow, sharp, mouth twisted into something nasty (Eli didn't think he'd ever seen Steve really smile - like, _happily_. He'd feel worse about that if Steve weren't a complete ass).

Now Steve Palchuk… _that_ was an idea. If Eli tried to imagine one of his classmates being in league with dark powers, Steve Palchuk was up there. He edged close to Steve, before a sharp glare sent him skittering to his desk. Ugh.

Getting close enough to Steve to touch him with the gaggletack without it turning into an ass-kicking would be a trial. Because Steve called Eli a pansy when he was quietly changing in the far corner of the locker room; if he caught on Eli was deliberately hanging around him-

Ugh. Eli worked on that problem for the next few periods, casually practicing his sleight-of-hand ruling out a few dozen more classmates including Claire Nuñuz and Toby Domzalski (though the gaggletack had been cold after that; he'd have to look into that), Señor Uhl, and the school nurse when he'd pretended to be sick to throw off Stan Whistler.

And then it was time for phys ed and...Eli was low on ideas. Struggling trying to climb the stupid rope, he resolved to just do it. If it got him beaten up, it'd be worth it to know for sure if there was a changeling in school.

He was staring at the gaggletack after class, the chatter and business of fifteen other guys showering, changing, trying to psych himself up to just go up to Steve and like, slap him with the gaggletack. It'd be _worth it_.

"What the hell are you doing, Pepper _dork_?"

Eli hadn't really meant to do it. He was just on edge, and the thought of Steve being a _troll_ on top of being a jerk was bringing to mind Blinky's rules about fighting trolls ('be afraid', 'don't start what you don't plan to finish', and 'if all else fails go for a swift kick in the groin').

So Eli, hand on the gaggletack, flailed, spun, and _entirely on accident_ threw it at Steve Palchuk's head.

A hand snapped into Eli's field of vision and snatched the gaggletack out of the air. "Pepperjack!"

Eli flinched back at Coach Lawrence's shout. The man was nearly as large as a troll himself, though he was, it seemed, _not_ one. And while he'd never called Eli a pansy, a girl, a wimp, himself, he'd never put a stop to _Steve_ doing it.

"My office, now!"

Eli grabbed his backpack and slunk after the teacher, heart sinking. Coach Lawrence was probably going to call Eli's _mom_ , and how was he going to explain this?

Stepping out of the locker room, though, they nearly ran into Mr. Strickler; he stepped back, hands up, narrowly avoiding the collision with Coach Lawrence, before glancing between the two of them.

"Trouble, Lawrence?"

"Pepperjack here was messing around - nearly brained Palchuk in the locker rooms."

Mr. Strickler hummed carefully, turning his gaze onto Eli, a careful, evaluative gaze. Narrow. Intense. And then Mr. Strickler nodded. "How about you allow me to handle this? I'm certain you have other matters to attend to, and I suspect Mr. Pepperjack needs a little more than yelling about the matter."

Coach Lawrence opened his mouth, paused, glanced at his office, and then nodded. He handed out the gaggletack to Mr. Strickler, who took it, carefully, hand kept from the metal by a handkerchief he then wrapped the gaggletack in.

"Come along, Mr. Pepperjack."

Eli trailed after Mr. Strickler in part because his mother would flip if he nearly killed a classmate and then fled the authorities, but mostly because he was pretty sure Blinky wouldn't forgive him stealing the gaggletack and then losing it.

When they reached Mr. Strickler's office, he set the gaggletack down in the middle of his desk, settled behind it, and waved at the seat opposite.

"Do sit down, Mr. Pepperjack."

"I didn't mean-"

"Oh, I don't doubt that. Mr. Palchuk has an intimidating presence, and well, you can hardly be blamed for reacting on instinct when startled. No, I wanted to know where you came across this...particular item."

Eli looked down at the gaggletack, and back up at Mr. Strickler. His face was a perfect showing of interested concern, eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed.

But a changeling _would_ be good at pretending. "A horseshoe? The internet - they're supposed to be lucky - people believe they protect them from fairies, the Evil Eye, stuff like that."

"Mmm. I would be cautious with such...items, Mr. Pepperjack. Unless you are certain of their provenance, you never know what trouble they might bring to you."

Eli's stomach churned, remembering how Blinky had been concerned about letting Eli seek out changelings on his own. But even if Mr. Strickler were a changeling, he wouldn't be dumb enough to do anything to Eli at _school_ , right?

"Trouble?" He wished his voice had been anything other than the squeak it came out as.

"Trouble. You never know where things like this may have come from, what they may have picked up, what you might...catch from them." Mr. Strickler slid the gaggletack toward Eli, touching it only through the handkerchief. He gave Eli a gentle smile. "You and your classmates' safety is, after all, my primary concern. Now I think if you understand things like this shouldn't be in school, we can put this incident behind us, yes?"

Eli grabbed the gaggletack, nodding, babbling something he wouldn't be able to recall under any circumstances, and bolted before Mr. Strickler suggested calling his mom.

Quickly, recklessly enough, that Eli ran into someone just outside Mr. Strickler's office, knocking both of them to the ground.

"The _hell_!" Throat tightening, heart twisting, Eli looked up at Steve's scowling face. " _Pepperdork_? Why do you still have this stupid thing; you could've _killed_ me!"

Eli looked down, to the side, where Steve had the gaggletack clenched in his bare fist.

Not a changeling, then.

Just a _jerk_.

"You ought to give it back to me. Mr. Strickler said it could have - tetanus, or hepatitis - or the _plague_!"

Steve dropped the gaggletack, recoiling, face scrunching up in disgust. "What the - you _were_ trying to kill me!"

"It was an _accident_ ," Eli retorted, scooping the gaggletack back up and slipping it back into his pocket. "And I didn't know if it had any weird diseases or whatever. Anyway, _I've_ been carrying it all day, so if anyone's going to get sick, it'd be me."

Steve, crouched, still looming over Eli, scowled, one fist clenched at his side. Eli held his breath, trying to prepare himself for a pounding.

But after another tense moment, Steve snorted and stood. "Whatever, Pepperdork. Just stay away from me."

"Gladly."

Steve paused, and Eli was worried for a moment he'd backtrack to pound Eli anyway, but then Steve stalked away.

Eli was too shaken to take the gaggletack out for the rest of the day, and, unwilling to risk another fight or, worse, his _mother_ hearing about his day, Eli bolted from school once the bell released them, hopping on his bike before remembering to even unlock it.

And then he was distracted, inexcusably so, as he pulled into an intersection just as a fancy dark car did.

The crash wasn't bad, really; Eli hit his head against the side of the car, so his helmet was probably done for, but he was pretty sure nothing else was worse than bruised. A short man with a neat goatee, slightly wilder mustache, stepped out of the car as Eli dove under it for his wallet.

"My boy, you should watch where you are going." The accent was...stereotypically German, and contained, precise. "You are not hurt?"

"My helmet took most of it." Eli felt his pocket, a flare of panic when he found it empty. "Except I dropped my - there!"

Eli scrambled when he saw the gaggletack just next to the man's shoe, just about to grab it when the man bent down and took it in his hand.

"What is-" The man's eyebrows raised in confusion as his eyes shifted from hazel to a baleful yellow, and then he dropped the gaggletack. "Oh! I am afraid I have the butter on my fingers!" His eyes were hazel again, but Eli, scooping up the gaggletack, knew what he'd seen. "You are certain you are not hurt? Perhaps I should take you to the hospital?"

Eli's blood felt like ice, a shiver running along his entire body. If he'd been worried sitting in Mr. Strickler's office, he was petrified here in front of a stranger, a man he _knew_ was a changeling, who himself knew Eli was carrying a gaggletack.

"I'm really fine," Eli said hurriedly. "I've got my wallet and my - my horseshoe, and I was supposed to meet my friend - hey!"

By some miracle, someone _was_ visible - Darci Scott, wheeling her bike along the far side of the street. She looked up, eyes narrow, puzzled, as Eli hurried over.

"...Eli?"

"Just keep walking; act like we're headed somewhere," Eli whispered.

Darci glanced over Eli's shoulder. "Don't look!"

At that, Darci's eyes narrowed further. "What did that guy do? Do you _know_ him?"

"No! I ran into his car, and he said he should take me to the hospital and-"

And there was no way to explain this, how terrified Eli was at the thought of this changeling getting him alone anywhere.

And Eli hadn't spoken to Darci, like, _ever_ , but something in her expression shifted in the face of Eli's panic. It hardened, mouth slipping from a frown to a thin, serious line. Eyes fixed on the changeling across the street, she pulled out her phone and tapped it once as she raised it to her ear.

"Hi, Daddy? I've got a suspicious person to report. Squat white guy, little goatee, mustache, driving a black car with license plate number THX1138. Corner of Maple and Second. Yeah, he was talking to a friend of mine, said some weird stuff that freaked him out." She paused, nodding, and, seeing the changeling looking at her, pointed to her phone, giving him a wide, almost frightening, grin. "I don't know, he was _freaking_ , Dad. Mhm. Thanks. Love you, too."

Across the street, the changeling was already clambering back into his car, pulling away from the curb just as a police car appeared around the corner. The car accelerated, which whatever cop was in the car saw as reason to pursue, sirens blazing.

When Darci turned back to Eli, she was smirking, at least until she saw Eli's face, and stepped in, reaching a hand out, hesitantly, to brush his arm. "Eli? Are you okay?"

"What-"

"My dad's a _cop_ ," Darci replied. "You think I didn't grow up hearing what to do if a strange man approached me on the street?" She glanced at Eli's bike. "You okay to head home? I'll see you there."

A lot of people would have asked questions. Eli's _mom_ would. But Darci let it alone, just traveled behind Eli, keeping watch, he supposed, until they got to his house. The smile she gave him when they got there was a little sad, but she also tilted her head, holding her arms open, a silent question.

It wasn't as comforting a hug as Eli might get from Aaarrrgghh, but that was a high bar to hold a human to. But it was nice, having someone reach out to him.

"Thanks," Eli muttered. "For the ride and...everything."

"Any time, Pepperjack," Darci replied. "I mean it." She paused, and swiped Eli's phone, handing it back when she couldn't open it. Dumbfounded, he did, watching as she typed out a quick text, at which point her phone chimed. "I'm serious," she added as she handed Eli's phone back. "Any weird guys, suspicious activity, _anything_ , you call me. Okay?"

Trying to pretend he hadn't been freaked out, that he hadn't gotten in over his head, obviously wasn't going to fly, so Eli just nodded. Maybe someday he'd be able to explain, but it wasn't going to be today.

Still.

For all of that, Eli'd learned something. He knew a whole bunch of people who weren't changelings, and could recognize one who _was_.

...Which did, admittedly, required him to admit he'd stolen the gaggletack.

He hoped Blinky wasn't the type to hold a grudge.

\---

"He had a _gaggletack_ , Stricklander! And called the cops on me! I'm going to have to abandon this form for _good_ , so don't tell me that boy isn't the Trollhunter!"

Strickler sighed, rubbing at his forehead. He wondered if it would be considered impolitic to point out that a Polymorph had much less to lose from being exposed than the average changeling. It probably would; being able to take many forms didn't mean Otto hadn't grown attached to particular ones.

It might distract Otto from the question of Elijah Pepperjack, though; as much as he would prefer to keep the Janus Order away from the _real_ Trollhunter, he doubted Jim would appreciate knowing Strickler had gotten some unsuspecting boy killed keeping _his_ cover.

"Would it make you feel better if I asked about it?"

There was silence on the line, a weighty silence as Otto considered Strickler's offer.

"Asked…"

" _Asked_ ," Strickler repeated. "Consulted the auspices."

"You haven't Asked before?"

"Of course not, or I wouldn't have offered."

Otto was silent, and Strickler smiled to himself. He wouldn't even need to waste his question if Otto agreed, and he could lay to rest any suspicion about Elijah (even if Strickler needed to discover how the boy had laid his hands on one of the few artifacts that could _expose_ them).

"No. Bular will find the Trollhunter in his own time, and he will cease to be a problem, _whoever_ he is. A question is too valuable to waste on a trifle such as this."

"Well. I will keep an eye on the Pepperjack boy, and you can see Brenda in HR for new papers. And Otto?"

"Yes?"

"Luring children into cars? It's not _us_. We're not _trolls_."


	9. Replacement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The jury is still out whether vaccinating your children increases the chances of them being kidnapped by goblins.

"Soooo," Mary said, ducking down so she could look up at Darci, fluttering her eyelashes. "What's this I hear about you and Eli Pepperjack?"

Darci raised an eyebrow. "What _have_ you heard about me and Eli Pepperjack?"

Mary rolled her eyes, jabbing a fork at Darci. "Come on. Yusuf told Erin who told Maia who told _me_ you walked him home last week. _Quite_ the modern woman, aren't we?"

"Oh my gosh," Darci groaned, but she was smiling. "He was freaking out about a thing and I offered to keep him company. I mean…" She grimaced a little, and Claire understood the urge Darci had to continue. Aside from the fact Eli was definitely not Darci's type, well, it was hard not to, you know, _assume_ things about him.

"Well," Mary replied, "people are _talking_."

"Well, there's worse guys to have everyone think I'm seeing. He's sweet. Weird, but sweet. You know what he gave me yesterday?" She turned and pulled a rusty horseshoe from her bag, pausing, and then tossing a few napkins on the table before setting it down. "It's some weird magic doodad he says they used to use to identify like - werewolves and stuff. If you're a monster in disguise and you touch it, you turn back to your real form."

"It's an old horseshoe," Mary said flatly.

Darci rolled her eyes; Claire gave her a sympathetic grin. Mary was great, but could latch onto one idea in a conversation and not leg go, even while the rest of the participants had moved on.

"I never said it was _real_ , I'm just saying what he told me about it. He knows about all sorts of weird folklore stuff. I mean, pretty sure he thinks it's all real, but. We all need hobbies."

"Like you and-" Mary froze, snapping her mouth shut under the force of Darci's glare. " _Your_ hobbies," Mary finished, awkward. Darci gave her a too-bright grin before turning back to Claire.

"You wanna touch it?"

"What?"

Darci jerked her head toward the horseshoe. "We can figure out if you're an evil shapeshifter just _pretending_ to be Claire."

Claire eyed the horseshoe warily. She'd seen a movie recently where the main character was a shapeshifting alien and hadn't even known it; it had freaked her out a little. "What about Mary? How do we know _she_ isn't a - a doppleganger, here to steal all our secrets?"

"Hey!" Mary retorted, face scrunching into a scowl. "I am _not_ a - whatever that is!"

Claire gave her a wicked grin. "Then touch the horseshoe."

Mary eyed it, and Claire was… _pretty_ sure her hesitance was because the thing looked pretty dirty, but.

Well.

The possibility was out there, now. In time, they'd all laugh this off, but right now, Claire wasn't certain she'd feel comfortable if Mary wouldn't touch the horseshoe, and was _sure_ Mary felt the same.

"On three?" Claire asked. Mary, brow furrowed, eyes fixed on the horseshoe, nodded. "One…"

"Two…" Mary murmured.

"Three!" Claire jerked her hand forward; Mary did the same, and their hands landed on each arm of the horseshoe.

"It's warm," Mary wondered. Mary Wang, not some weird monster that looked like her. And when Claire pulled her phone out, she could see her own face, not some alien or robot thing or whatever. She let out a sigh, tension she hadn't been aware of easing.

"Well, _that_ was anticlimactic," Darci complained, leaning back, arms crossed across her chest.

"Wait, did you _want_ one of us to be some dopple-thing?" Mary demanded.

Darci shrugged. "It would have been _interesting_ at least." She paused, frowning a moment, before leaning in, grabbing each of Mary's and Claire's hands. "Guys, I wouldn't _tell_ anyone - you're my _best friends_ , even if you _are_ goblins or witches or whatever."

...Claire _hadn't_ been worrying about that, but it was nice to know Darci wouldn't snitch on her if she started practicing witchcraft.

"So, who wants to borrow it?"

"What?"

Darci waggled her eyebrows at Claire. "Come on, you ever wonder if your parents were replaced by clones?"

"I don't think that'd-"

"And won't Eli want his horseshoe back?"

Darci rolled her eyes. "No, he _gave_ it to me. Said it was for protection, and I tried to tell him Daddy taught me how to improvise _anything_ into a weapon, but you know boys."

"Yeah," Mary said dreamily.

"Anyway," Darci said, dragging the horseshoe back to hers and Claire's side of the table, "take it. Check out your barber, the cashier at the supermarket, Jim Lake."

"Ugh," Claire groaned.

"What's wrong? I thought you thought he was cute!"

" _Sure_ , but he's-" Claire waved a hand, uncertain how to explain, without making Jim seem like a _terrible_ person. "A complete mess. I don't know if you've talked to him for more than like, ten seconds, but it would _not_ work out."

"Bad kisser, huh?"

" _Ugh_. Can we talk about anything other than Jim Lake?" Claire was...basically done thinking about it, especially since Jim seemed equally eager to do so, avoiding her if he could possibly manage it. A promising sign, compared to what sort of messed up stuff Claire was aware _could_ happen, if Jim really _were_ a jerk.

"Take the horseshoe, Claire. Stick it over your door to keep out witches or something."

"Oh my god if it will shut you up." Claire grabbed the horseshoe and after a brief moment of contemplation stuck it in the front pocket of her backpack with her makeup. She gave Darci a gentle smile to let her know there were no hard feelings, but.

Well, she'd mostly forgotten about it when she got home, because she was going to be stuck at home watching Enrique while the _Papa Skulls_ were playing, probably the greatest injustice that had happened to her within the past two weeks.

And she had calculus _and_ biology _and_ social studies homework.

So, just a shit day, basically.

"Enjoy it while you can," she called to Enrique, who was bouncing in his little swing seat, "because it just goes downhill from here."

He was a little quieter than usual, more sedate, so Claire was able to devote fifteen minutes or so to her social studies worksheet before a gurgle made her look up. Enrique had escaped from his swing (frankly, his most annoying trait, the ability to get out of pretty much any restraint), and was fumbling with her bag.

"Hey, _hermanito_ , no," Claire crooned, setting her books aside and reaching to her bag. "There's all sorts of stuff babies shouldn't be sticking in their-"

Enrique stuck his hand in the front pocket, and changed.

Into a bug-eyed, squat little _monster_. He had _green skin_ and a weird little mohawk (and, Claire noted distantly, looked nearly as surprised as she felt).

"What."

The monster scrambled back, and then looked like her brother again, falling onto his back with a gurgle, but Claire wasn't going to be fooled.

"What _are_ you?" Claire demanded. Enrique looked up at her with wide brown eyes, which would have been enough to distract her from her concern, except that the problem was that her _brother_ had turned into a _monster_.

"Are you-" She felt a sudden flash of dread, stomach plummeting, making her feel sick. "You're not my brother. Did you do something to him? _What did you do to my brother_?" She grabbed her backpack and hefted it, testing the weight. It could _definitely_ do some damage. "If you - I don't know - _ate_ him, I'll - _stuff you down the garbage disposal_!"

"Guh."

Claire stalked toward Enri - _not_ Enrique, scooping him up before he could scramble away. She held him up at eye level, glaring into his _very convincing_ imitation of her brother's slightly watery eyes when he was about to cry.

She bit her lip, wondering, for a brief moment, if she'd imagined the whole thing. Because even if her brother were actually, or had been replaced with, a green monster, why would its disguise have-

The _horseshoe_.

Claire dove into her backpack; _not_ Enrique began struggling in earnest, face screwing up as if he were about to really start wailing, and then Claire pressed the horseshoe against his arm.

"Er."

Claire gave the little monster a grin she'd been assured was _very_ frightening. "I'm going to ask again. _Once_. And then it's the garbage disposal."

"Look, your brother's fine! Better than fine! I can show you!"

Claire glowered at the monster, considering whether they'd try to run if she put them down. "How?"

"Just get me to a mirror, and you can see he's _fine_!"

Wishing she knew more about this sort of thing (Eli Pepperjack would probably have been a help here), whether the monster could escape through the mirror or what, Claire, still holding the horseshoe and Enrique tightly, walked to the ground floor bathroom before turning to Enrique (except he was _not_ Enrique).

The monster grinned, scrabbled until Claire let them down, and then, perched on the counter, breathed on the glass of the mirror.

The fog of their breath held for a moment before clearing, revealing-

"Enrique! What-" He was in a bassinet, rocking gently in unseen wind, against the background of a dark, craggy ravine, sickly light filling the space beyond. "Where _is_ he?"

"That's the Darklands. Nasty place our boss is stuck in." A spindly green creature dropped onto Enrique's bassinet, and Claire screamed, recoiling from the image. It was a toothy, bulbous creature like a fleshy bug, and perched with ease on the rocking basket.

"And that thing's going to _eat_ him?"

"What? _No_! The goblins gotta take _care_ of the familiars; if anything happened to your brother, I'd be stuck looking like this _all_ the time. The Nursery's probably the safest place in the universe for your brother."

"You said it was in a place called the 'Darklands'! How is that safe?"

"Like I _told_ you, the boss needs us changelings, and that means he's gotta keep those kids completely unharmed."

" _Kids_?" And in the image on the mirror, Claire could see dozens, maybe more, baskets, hanging in sight of Enrique's. " _Changelings_? How many more of you _are_ there?"

"Nuh uh." The fog on the glass faded, and the image with it. "Trade secret, kid. But hey, I gotta deal for you. _You_ help me keep my cover, and _I_ look out for you when the boss gets back from the Darklands."

Claire leaned in close. "I've got a better idea. _You_ help me get my brother back, and _I_ don't experiment to see if changelings _bounce_."

The changeling stared at Claire, likely considering the chances she would follow through on the threat. She wasn't certain she would, but figured explaining things would be helped by having a changeling corpse on hand.

But after only a few tense moments, the changeling shrugged. "Sure, what the heck? Not like I got anything better to work on."

"Oh _thank you_!" Claire grabbed the changeling, bringing them in for a hug before realizing they were still a creepy little monster, and paused. "Uh."

The changeling wriggled a little and she dropped them back onto the counter. "Not gonna lie to you, kid, it isn't gonna be easy. Except for these little windows called Fetches, there isn't a way in _or_ out of the Darklands."

Claire felt her heart skip, tighten. "Then how-"

"Said there isn't a way _right now_. Now, a master of shadow magic might be able to get you in and out, but we don't have one of those around. What we _do_ have are the pieces of a bridge to the Shadowlands. Problem _there_ is only a guy named the Trollhunter can make it work, and _nobody_ has any idea who that is."

Claire gave the changeling a look she hoped came across as suitably threatening. "You could have said that right off."

"Could have. Didn't."

"So all I need to do is find this Trollhunter and get him to take me into the Darklands?"

"Oh, sure, if you wanna get _killed_. The Darklands is full of _trolls_ , kiddo. Man - person-eating monsters. Not to mention blood goblins, nyarlagroths, and _worse_. You need a plan. You need a team."

And Claire nodded, because she knew _exactly_ she needed on her side.

"Now, what do I call you?"

The changeling's eyes widened. "Enrique; it's who I'm supposed to be."

"But you're _not_ Enrique, and I'm not pretending you are any more than I have to. Don't you have another name?"

The changeling shook his head. "What's the point? I'm not supposed to be anyone else."

"Well, _I'm_ not going to call you Enrique. How about Rico?"

"What?"

"Yeah," Claire decided. "Rico. It suits you."

There was a flicker of _something_ in the changeling's expression. " _Suits_ me?"

Claire shrugged. "Yeah, you _look_ like a Rico."

"Look like a-" Rico's face scrunched up a little. "Humans are _weird_."

"Now come on; we've got plans to make."

\---

A door slammed distantly in the museum; Strickler sighed, and saw the same slump in Nomura's shoulders. Bular clearly wasn't happy (it was a safe bet; Bular was _never_ happy).

"Impures!" Bular snarled as he shoved the canvas aside into Strickler's and Nomura's workspace. Strickler shook his head minutely, and Nomura didn't look up from her work. Bular snarled, one hand clenching, and Strickler fought down a smile. "Stricklander. Nomura."

"Yes, Bular?"

"Have you made any progress finding the Trollhunter?"

"I do not know more than I did the last time you asked," Strickler replied, keeping his voice mild.

"What about that human boy who exposed your Polymorph?"

"Elijah Pepperjack is _not_ the Trollhunter; that I can say with certainty."

"Then do you have any _leads_? Any _plans_?"

"We can afford to be patient," Strickler replied. "The Bridge is still incomplete. Agitating the humans unduly would risk the opening of the way. And if all else fails, it should not prove difficult to lure the Trollhunter here. With few...regrettable exceptions, the threats to innocents' lives have proven sufficient to herd Trollhunters where we need them."

Bular grumbled, an unhappy sound. "When my father returns, when we hold dominion over the surface, you will no longer be able to tell me what to do, Stricklander."

"I cannot tell you what to do _now_ , my lord. I can advise, provide what guidance I may." Strickler raised his gaze to Bular, the second-most ferocious troll in Gunmar's employ. "If you wish to slaughter the entire population of Arcadia Oaks in your quest to destroy the Trollhunter, I could do _nothing_ to stop you. That you see the wisdom in my words is not foolishness. That you subordinate base desire to reason is not weakness. It is...good to have a leader who understands the sword is not always the best tool."

Bular snorted. "One week, Stricklander. Then we do things _my way_."

"My lord! If you raze this town, you will bring the full weight of the humans' vengeance on us-"

"Do you think I don't know that, Stricklander? I have been using the humans' internet...on your _advice_. I believe I know how to send a hunter into their world without drawing their attention to _us_. So for that insight, I must commend you. But as I have said, that insight earns you _one week_."

Strickler held his breath until Bular left, to find his meals, or hunt down Draal, at which point he let it free in a rush.

"Still playing that game, Stricklander?"

"You know as well as _I_ do, Nomura, what will happen when _his father_ returns. If we-"

"Spare me the speech, Stricklander. I've heard it before." Nomura slotted two pieces of stone together and gave a toothy grin. "With or without a familiar, I am an asset to Gunmar, to _whoever_ rules the Gumm-Gumms."

"An impure will never be general of Gunmar's armies."

Nomura snorted. "That's your problem, Stricklander. You always think in terms of generals and kings. All I want is-"

" _A chair somewhere_ ," Strickler hummed, earning a sharp glare from Nomura, who managed to carry something of the stern curator into her expressions as a troll.

"All I want is _my piece_ , and that I can have being _useful_."

"Fair enough. I will give you my hope you never _cease_ being useful, then."


	10. Stalking Arcadia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's 16th birthday goes...poorly.

Jim woke the morning of his sixteenth birthday with a splitting headache. Tiffany and Sloane had overpowered Arthur to run _their_ kind of training, which, while not leaving Jim _physically_ tired, usually left him woozy even after a full night's sleep. And when Tiffany and Sloane spent the entire time arguing - as they _had_ \- Jim got a headache on top of it.

(He didn't even bother trying to figure out how he was building up muscle memory from the training sessions in his dreams. Archimedes was unbelievably unhelpful when it came to questions about magic.)

"Mom?" He slipped downstairs, the house unusually quiet; Archimedes hadn't even been sitting next to his bed snoring, as he was wont to do (for a nocturnal creature, he spent a lot of time sleeping when _Jim_ was trying to).

What he found was a note on the kitchen counter.

'Had an early morning, sweetie, so sorry I'm not here to wake you. Thought you needed a day off, so I called in sick to school for you. We even banished Archimedes to Toby's place. There's a _delicious_ quiche in the fridge (don't worry; I didn't make it!), and I've got a nice dinner planned. So relax, try to keep your mind off things, and Toby apparently has a surprise for you later so don't get too wrapped up in anything.

'Love, Mom'

Jim blinked, finding his vision blurry. Of course he knew his mother had his back; dueling Draal to pressure him into stepping up in dealing with the whatever supernatural problems Arcadia had to deal with proved that (he'd met Draal once since, in passing. The two of them clearly were never going to be friends, but no one'd threatened each other). But this - a little break in the relentlessness of training and preset hunting circuits - was something else. A reminder that for all she said it when protesting Jim taking care of her, that she really _meant_ it.

But Jim wasn't here to cry. He wiped his eyes clear and went to warm up the quiche - filled with herbs and cheese and, as his mother had attested, _delicious_. He had a second piece, taking note of the flavors so he could return the favor on his _mom's_ birthday. Once finished with that, Jim decided to finally accomplish a chore he'd meant to for ages and find a proper perch for Archimedes.

His dad's stuff was in the attic, at the back - things his dad hadn't bothered taking when he'd left, and was mostly trash. He found a trunk full of what looked like his dad's college books - political philosophy, a worn copy of 'The Prince', 'Animal Farm'. There was a smattering of foreign currency - a few dollars' worth, and a double-headed novelty coin advertising some sort of arcade. There was a school ring with a small black stone in it - Jim stuck that in his pocket to ask his mom about later. And a box full of pet paraphernalia. He didn't remember his mom mentioning his dad liked animals, but there was a squeaky bone, a worn rubber mouse that smelled of catnip, some plastic food bowls, and - an iron-based perch that looked like it could be set on a desk and let a bird sit on it and be at eye level.

Jim dragged it downstairs, setting it down on one of the end tables in the living room, and then decided to do something he hadn't had a chance to do since this all started:

Research.

Mr. Strickler had told Jim to think about what people wanted from him, and he realized he didn't know much about Merlin - just a few things he'd seen in movies.

And what he found was…

Interesting. Merlin was a wise man, a wizard. In some stories, part-demon. There weren't any stories about him and trolls, not that Jim could easily find.

But there _were_ stories about him and a woman called Morgana le Fay, a sorceress of approximately equal power. His student in some tellings, and an enemy to King Arthur in most, what was notable about her was that _no one had mentioned her to Merlin's Trollhunter_.

His research was interrupted, however, by a loud banging at the front door.

Summoning Daylight ( _not_ the full armor), Jim edged down the stairs, trying to peer out through the side windows as he did.

"Hey, Jimbo!" Jim relaxed, sword vanishing without any actual thought, and jogged down the last few stairs. Toby launched himself through the door when Jim opened it, latched around Jim's middle with a crushing strength.

"Ow, have you been working out?"

"It's your _birthday_!" Toby crowed. "And I've got a surprise. Go get your bike, we've got places to be!"

Toby grabbed Jim's arm and tugged him out of the house; he was practically vibrating, and Toby had _never_ been this excited.

"Tobes, what's going on?"

"You'll see!"

Toby led Jim downtown, which wasn't enlightening until they approached the _Vespa store_.

"Toby, you don't have this kind of money. _Do_ you? Have you been alley fighting?"

Toby shook his head. "Nah, come on." He pulled a folder out of his backpack and strolled into the store; or, he paused in the door and waved at Jim.

Jim was certain Toby hadn't bought him a Vespa, but couldn't imagine why else they were here, so he followed Toby in just to find out _what_ was going on.

Toby was arguing with the proprietor.

"I don't have time for this, kid. If you're not going to buy-"

"I've got an insurance and damage waiver, a provisional permit dated _today_ , aaaaand, a deposit from my good friend Mr. Hamilton."

The shop owner looked down at the stack of papers Toby had produced, and then at the ten dollar bill he'd set down next to them. Then he looked up at Jim, eyes narrowed.

"You'll be safe. No tricks or all-terrain riding."

"Jimbo's never even crashed his bike!" Toby added.

"Fine." The man grabbed a set of keys and walked over to the red display model. He held out the keys, pausing before Jim could take them. "Twenty minutes, and if there's even a _scratch_ -"

"It'll be _fine_ ," Toby insisted, bouncing on the balls of his feet as Jim climbed aboard the bike, wheeled it outside. "Okay, so you gotta tell me all about it when you get back, okay? And stay safe! And have fun!"

"Will do, Tobes!"

It _was_ fun, speeding along without having to pedal, faster than he could have managed without exhausting himself, steering almost effortless. It didn't take long to pass through the town and decide to head up into the mountains, enjoying the combination of cooler air and the sun's warmth as he pulled further up.

And then a distant scream broke through Jim's reverie. He stopped, listened, and then started off higher up the mountain when the shout came again, followed by a blood-curdling screech. Some teenagers, Jim thought grimly as he accelerated, wouldn't feel _obligated_ to chase after a scream like that.

Most teenagers wouldn't end up spending their _birthday_ , which was supposed to be his _day off_ , chasing down-

A pale, red-eyed creature, with long limbs, claws, and batlike wings, swooping at a tiny figure who swung at it with a long club whenever it drew close. A word came to mind, one that did not fill Jim with confidence about his chances.

Hint.

The word rhymed with 'wagon'.

Jim pulled the Vespa to a stop. "Get away!" he shouted. The figure, who had to _jump_ to reach the flying creature even when it was swooping down at them, landed, turned, and waved wildly, as if he were trying to get _Jim_ out of there.

Which was stupid, because the figure was clearly _Eli Pepperjack_ , who was in no position to be protecting Jim from…

He wasn't going to think it, because if he didn't think the word, it wouldn't be true.

The _definitely not a dragon_ slammed into the ground behind Eli, and Jim sprinted toward them. He wouldn't - couldn't - expose himself here, but he could put to use some of Arthur's training (Tiffany tried to drill him in dozens of kinds of combat, to remember how to respond to any possible threat; Sloane tried to teach him how to avoid this exact situation; Arthur just taught Jim how to fight by doing his level best to beat the shit out of him) to get Eli out of danger.

He tackled Eli as the - the _thing_ raised a claw to slash at him, tucking himself around Eli and rolling as they hit the ground (he got a scrape or two, but Jim was pretty sure nothing was broken). He shoved Eli off the road and stood as the (not a dragon, not a dragon, not a dragon, Jim prayed) creature lumbered toward them rather than taking to the air.

"Get to the Vespa and head back to the dealership!" Jim shouted back at him.

"What? Jim, that's a-"

Jim hopped back as the creature swiped at him, forcing him to look away from Eli. "I'll distract it! Just _go_!"

The creature lunged to the right; Jim flailed at it, seeing Eli scrambling toward the Vespa (which Jim realized only now would end up stranding him up here with the...fuck. _Dragon_ ) from the corner of his eye. The creature, though, ignored Jim, lumbering along toward Eli as he started the bike.

Out of options, Jim raised his hand to his chest. "For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command."

Jim's eyes closed of their own accord at the brief moment of weightlessness as Merlin's magic held him up, distilling the Armor of Daylight out of nothingness. Eli, looking back toward the monster, must have seen, but Jim had no time to worry about what Eli thought about this.

Especially because as Jim hit the ground, the creature swung around, raising a claw, and...paused. Its eyes widened, and then it lunged, mouth wide to reveal the six-inch fangs filling its mouth.

Jim sidestepped, swinging Daylight around to bite deep into the creature's jaw. The creature howled, twisting around as it swung a clawed hand at him, forcing Jim back to avoid being, well, not necessarily gutted, but it would have hurt. The creature humped forward, surprisingly quickly, and instead of biting, swung its head at Jim, a headbutt that sent him backward; he caught himself before his head hit the ground, sparing a moment to wonder why Merlin hadn't installed a helmet on this thing.

And then the creature was on him again, recovered from whatever shock it had experienced first seeing Jim. He barely missed the first claw slamming into the ground, the second hitting him hard, sending him skidding back again, the armor scratched and dented instead of Jim; Daylight flew from Jim's grasp, skittering across the pavement. The creature loped forward, jaws slavering as it snapped at Jim.

Its jaws slammed around the arm Jim interposed between him and it, stopped, thankfully, by the strength of whatever the armor was made of. Howling, it twisted an arm around and slammed it into Jim's chest. He wrenched his arm free of the creature's mouth just in time to get thrown clear instead of dislocating his arm or _worse_.

The blow _did_ , however, separate Jim from the Amulet of Daylight, the amulet arcing away from him as he slammed into a tree at the side of the road, leaving him breathless and keenly aware of the fact his aching back was going to bruise _badly_.

He escaped a follow-up grab by some quick scrambling with little more than a pair of deep scratches along his shoulders, just about making it to the amulet as the creature stalked after him.

Jim's heart skipped a beat when he saw shards of metal spread out from the amulet; had it _broken_?

Picking it up, however, Jim found the amulet had a set of hinges, allowing it to swing open, spreading like a flower. Within the amulet were six impressions, curved in such a way that Jim bet if he had a small, circular object, he could just...slot it into one of the openings.

Which...would be worth investigating when Jim wasn't about to die.

He collapsed the amulet back into amulet form and said, rushed, "For the glory of Merlin Daylight is mine to command". The surge of magic was interrupted by another blow, sending him rolling away, but, thankfully, still in the armor. Hissing as he tried to get up, back, face stinging from cuts all along them, Jim reached his hand out, pulling the same way he did when he called Daylight from nothingness.

He swiped at the creature - not at its center, but at the side, catching the creature's wing with the blade, a long cut that left a line of petrified flesh across it. The creature screamed; the sound reverberated, though, even as it snapped forward at Jim. He fended it off, slapping the flat of his blade against its mouth, and…

The screaming continued, and the creature tilted its head to the side, listening. It took a moment to recognize the sound. 

It was a siren. A _police siren_. The creature was apparently bright enough to figure that out, too, because it turned, taking to the air with two flaps - a curious short one that set its injured wing fluttering and then a second, more confident one that took it twenty feet straight into the air. And then it was up, soaring, invisible by the time the sirens drew close and Jim thought to banish the armor, hide the amulet.

A police car wailed up the road, a large truck trailing it. The truck was labeled "Animal Control", and Jim laughed a little, because the thought of someone used to dealing with Arcadia Oaks' raccoons trying to wrangle a - maybe a dragon - was horrifying. He couldn't quite get himself to stop, not even when a cop, he presumed, crouched down next to him.

"Hey, kid, you alright?"

"It's - a - fucking - _dragon_!" Jim wheezed, shaking so hard he didn't know if he was laughing or crying. The cop patted his back and then he was...well, definitely crying.

Jim was an embarrassment as a Trollhunter - couldn't even face down one lousy dragon without having a nervous breakdown. He just shook while the cop patted his shoulder and murmured something about vultures (like Jim didn't know what a fucking _vulture_ looked like).

He didn’t remember what he told the police officer, a wide, serious man with neatly cropped beard and hair that made him look sterner than he proved to be trying to comfort Jim. Whatever it was didn’t include a description of Jim’s nocturnal activities, because no one suggested he was crazy, just traumatized being attacked by a giant bird.

Detective Scott (Jim had _thought_ he looked familiar) offered to drive Jim to the hospital, which Jim accepted after only a moment’s thought. His phone began vibrating a minute after the car started, texts from Toby, to which Jim only had the energy to respond he was alive; on that note, he sent his mom a text to expect him with injuries from ‘running around with A.’, the best way to avoid risking anyone seeing the word ‘troll’ in their texts.

He weathered his mom’s concern and care, but hesitated when she suggested he send a message to Vendel.

“They agreed to help if it was serious, and this dragon thing sounds serious,” she argued on the drive home.

“It’s not that big a deal,” Jim mumbled. His phone buzzed again, but he ignored both it and his mom’s curious look. “I can figure it out on my own.” Because otherwise, what right did he have to call himself a Trollhunter?

“That thing could have _killed_ you! If that - Draal, or Aarghaumont-“

“Aaarrrgghh,” Jim interrupted. Jim’s mom raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. “He and Blinky watched the fight with me.” He paused before deciding it wouldn’t hurt to share. “He wouldn’t be much help; he’s a pacifist.”

“ _Him_? But Archimedes said he was-“ Jim’s mom stopped, grimacing when she realized what Jim had. Pacifism was possibly the most complete rejection of Gunmar a troll was capable of. Whether it was Aaarrrgghh’s choice, or something he’d done to allay suspicions about his loyalties, it was clearly effective, given his place in Trollmarket.

" _Still_ -"

"I can _handle_ it, Mom! Okay?"

"I can't handle it," Jim admitted to Arthur when his dreams faded into the nonspace in which the other Trollhunters...lived, for want of a better word. He'd turned his phone off rather than let Toby worry at him, had shut Archimedes out of his room, and read thirty pages on genocide for history because it was somehow less depressing, and then went to sleep.

"I'm not really the guy to talk to if you want to learn how to murder dinosaur-trolls or whatever." Arthur twisted around, swinging the two-handed axe he'd picked up at Jim. He just about deflected the blow with the flat of the blade, but then Arthur shoved him back, sending Jim sprawling onto the ground.

He flinched back, making Arthur pause, narrowing his eyes slightly. He let the axe drop to his side, and settled down next to it. "This has you really freaked out, doesn't it?"

"I can't _do_ this, Art. I had to get my _mom_ to defend my honor with Draal. I _ran_ from Nomura. I couldn't handle _one_ little dragon."

"Dragon?" Arthur frowned as he leaned back, propped up on his hands. "That wasn't a dragon; dragons aren't even real."

"So I can't even handle a - whatever that was! Be honest - am I the worst Trollhunter ever?"

"The worst? Depends on your perspective. Francis the Forgettable had the job for...ninety minutes. Archimedes would say Synclair was the worst, but that was mostly philosophical differences. In _my opinion_ , though, it was Georg the Dawnbringer."

"Did he die without ever winning a fight?"

"Pretty much the opposite." Arthur's face darkened, lips quirking into a sharp scowl. "I don't know _what_ Archimedes was thinking with that one."

"I think I'm proof he's a terrible decision-maker," Jim retorted. He shifted, uncertain if he and Arthur were close enough friends he could ask for a hug. "I'm not even supposed to be doing this."

"So _don't_."

"What? What about my mom-"

"From what I remember, she can take care of herself."

"Toby-"

"None of these people are your responsibility!" Arthur snapped, and for a moment, his eyes burned. Jim recoiled, heart pounding, and at the sight of it, Arthur himself fell back, shivering. "Sorry, sorry, I…"

"How'd you do it?"

Arthur looked up, eyes drooped, weary. "What do you mean?"

"Trollhunting?"

Arthur snorted. "I was like a year or two older than you when I died. I didn't exactly get a lot of practice at the job. You're the first person _my_ age to pick up the amulet; I don't want you to end up like me."

"I've got some bad news, Art. Unless you've got the Philsopher's Stone stashed away somewhere, I'm going to end up dead some day."

Arthur growled and shoved Jim's shoulder. "You know what I mean, you dick."

"Yeah." Jim sighed, falling back onto his back. "I don't want to die young, either. But Bular wants the Amulet, and that means killing me, so…"

"Yeah. Forgot about that." Arthur patted Jim's shoulder. "Look, you're getting better at fighting."

"Not as good as _you_ are! And I bet I'm not nearly as good as Sloane! Or even Francis the Forgettable! Jim the Worthless."

Arthur pulled his hand back. "You're not _worthless_. I mean...you _are_ sixteen years old, so maybe you shouldn't be trying to beat thousand-year-old trolls with violence."

"Holy _fuck_." Jim lunged up and grabbed Arthur in a brief, tight hug. "You're a _genius_."

Jim woke the next morning with a plan, one hampered only slightly by Archimedes explaining exactly what he was up against.

"It is a stalkling, Jim, one of the fiercest species of troll, and one of the few able to brave the daylight. And according to Facebook, it's been sighted all over town."

"I don't get it; aren't trolls supposed to be secret?"

Jim spent several minutes scrolling through the accumulated news, of a large bird sighted across town. It had attacked three people, and Animal Control was warning people to move in groups and not approach any aggressive wildlife.

After a minute, Jim realized it _wasn't_ risking the exposure of the trolls. No one had caught the creature (the stalkling) on video, and whoever was taking descriptions was defaulting to calling it a 'large bird'.

And then he realized _why_ no one had bothered getting a thorough description.

All of the people attacked were teenagers.

People Jim knew, or at least knew of. Eli, Steve Palchuk, Ross Barnes…

Teenage _boys_.

Jim had already suspected, but this was just confirmation the stalkling was doing exactly what you'd expect if it was looking for the Trollhunter and only knew the Trollhunter's sex and approximate age.

Things would have been a lot easier if he lived in Wyoming or somewhere he would have been using a rifle since he was six, but Jim was still pretty confident in his plan.

Toby was less so.

"Look, I'm elated you decided to ask for my help - recognize what your best friend brings to the team. But this-" Toby waved at the scrap Jim had pressed him to help scavenge, "isn't really what I had in mind."

"Yeah, well _somebody_ -"

"The dude who lives in your head."

" _One_ of the dudes. And they said it's not my head, really. I think they live in the amulet."

"Right." Toby was quiet for a beat. "What about him?"

"Oh! He said I couldn't expect to out-fight these monsters, so I decided to out-think it."

"By ripping off Looney Toons?"

"Dreamworks," Jim corrected, tightening a rope. "Now get ready; I'm going to see if I can get its attention."

Toby grabbed Jim's arm before he could walk away, a watery look in his wide eyes. "Jimbo…are you sure this'll work?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Yeah!" Toby raised his hand, ticking off on his fingers. "Calling that Draal guy. Asking Archimedes for advice. Asking your _mom_. Calling Animal Control and then giving them a concussion afterwards and claiming they dreamt the whole thing. Stealing a rifle from the police station."

"What? That's crazy!"

" _And it's still a better idea than this_!" Toby snapped. He was shouting, but Jim could see he was shaking, hands clenched at his sides. "You nearly got _killed_ yesterday riding a - fucking _Vespa_ around. _Looking_ for trouble like this - you're gonna get killed for _real_!"

Toby'd been so cool about all this, Jim hadn't really thought about him. Hadn't considered that he loved Jim with approximately the same magnitude as Jim's mom did. That he probably felt more helpless than Jim's mom, who was a doctor and a surgeon and could beat up full-grown trolls and _still_ looked at Jim like he had one foot in the grave already.

If Jim died…

A terrible thought occurred to him. "Tobes? If I promise to be careful, can you promise me something?"

"Jimbo?"

"Whatever happens. _No matter what_ , don't take the Amulet."

Toby's eyes flicked to the amulet, clenched in Jim's hand, before he shrugged. "I. Yeah."

"Good. Now, if you're watching my back, I'll be _fine_. For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command."

Between one step and the next, Jim was cloaked in metal forged from sunlight, Daylight held loosely in his hand. He climbed to the top of the peak they'd picked for their assault. He looked back at Toby, who was next to their...contraption, even if he was still hunched in on himself.

Good enough. Jim raised Daylight over his head and twisted it to catch the mid-day sun. After all, you wanted to catch the attention of a creature searching for the Trollhunter? Give it a spotlight.

He spent half an hour doing that, turning slowly to cast the light both toward Arcadia and the mountains, before he began reconsidering his plan. The stalkling was _looking_ for him, right? What was stopping it from swooping down on him?

He looked back at Toby, a sinking sense in his stomach. "Toby?"

"What?"

"You have to leave me alone, Toby."

"No. I'm here to _back you up_! I'm not _leaving_ until that thing is _dead_ and you are _safe_!"

"It's not going to show up until I'm alone. So we can stay up here until we're both dead-"

"Or I can leave until _you're_ dead! Holy _crap_ , you are terrible at plans!"

"And what's yours? Holding my hand for the rest of my life? News flash - there's _nothing you can do_ to keep me from dying!"

"Huh." Toby let his hands drop, giving Jim a curt nod. "You're right." He raised a hand in a wave. "Catch you later, Trollhunter. Call me if you don't die or whatever."

"What." It didn't take more than a moment before Toby was out of view, leaving Jim alone on the mountain.

It was quiet for a long minute before Jim realized the, uh, fatal flaw in his plan. He wasn't certain that when he saw the stalkling he could make it to the machine before it got him.

A scream echoed across the crags and Jim's blood went cold. A moment later, the silhouette of the stalkling appeared, backed by the sun. Jim had no idea where the stalkling had been, to be appearing so close, but he turned, certain now he wasn't going to reach the machine in time. The next time the stalkling screamed, it was so close Jim could imagine its breath on the back of his neck. He tripped, sprawling as the stalkling soared over him, wheeling around for another run at him.

It meant he had a perfect view of Toby stepping out from a dense shrubbery, grabbing the controls it occurred to Jim only now they hadn't tested, and pulled.

The net flew true from the catapult, slamming into the stalkling, sending it tumbling back, over the edge of the nearest ledge, squawking as it fell out of sight. And then the crashing sounds stopped. A few moments later, the creature let out a pained cry.

Jim pushed himself to his feet. He didn't have time to decipher the harsh expression on Toby's face, turning to the ledge. The slope looked shallow enough, so Jim hopped down, ignoring the startled shout behind him as he slid down to the spot thirty feet below where the stalkling gnawed at the wire woven into the net. It looked up at Jim as he approached, eyes watery, pained.

"If you were just trying to kill me, I might feel bad about this," Jim said, uncertain if the stalkling could understand him. "But kids who have _nothing_ to do with all this?" He raised Daylight, ignoring the creature's frantic thrashing, because at the end of the day this was _war_. Tiffany and Sloane were of one mind ( _in_ one mind) on this subject: _never start a job you don't intend to finish_.

So he shoved the blade home, through the stalkling's chest. There was no blood, only a flash along the creature's skin as its flesh gave way to stone, leaving a pitiful statue of a winged troll ensnared in rope and barbed wire. Jim glowered at it and gave it a kick, sending it rolling off the side of the next ledge to shatter on the ground below.

And then Jim sat down, energy draining from him. Somehow, it had been easier dealing with the knowledge these things were trying to kill him, than with the knowledge he'd have to kill them.

The sound of shifting gravel made Jim raise Daylight, but he was still aware enough to let it drop when he saw Toby sliding down after him; Toby landed with a little more grace than Jim was used to, though he sat next to Jim after only a moment.

"That was...um. Did you kill it?"

"What else was I going to do? Try to tame it?"

"I don't know!" Toby sighed, and tugged Jim sideways against him. "I didn't really think…"

"Me either."

It was quiet a moment before Jim could dredge up the energy to talk. "I'm sorry I yelled."

"Yeah, I was...freaking out, too. Just. I keep imagining you - _dying_ out here, Jimbo. I don't know if I could - with my parents and - and everything." Toby didn't _sound_ like he was on the verge of crying, so Jim thought it was okay to leave it be.

"Then what was with the storming off?"

"I mean, you were right. The stalkling wasn't gonna go after you when you had company. And I'm pretty sure it couldn't like, _magically_ tell if you're alone. So."

"You hid."

"Bingo!"

"You're a genius, Tobes."

"Yeah." Toby nudged Jim, rocking him a little. "So you should _remember_ that the next time you've got an evil troll to fight."

Jim chuckled. "If I'm going to you for ideas and my mom for beating up bad trolls, what's left for me to do?"

"Finish the job, apparently," Toby replied. With _that_ heavy thought, it was silent for another moment. "If I ever meet Merlin in person, I'm gonna kick him so hard his _descendents_ will feel it."

\---

Steve stared at his inbox. One new message, from a now-familiar username. This was monumentally stupid; he _knew_ that, but.

Well, he was pretty sure he had no other choice.

After he'd been attacked by a monster he had not been stupid enough to tell the police _was_ a monster, his first thought had been to search for the town's resident expert on monsters and creepy shit.

But then Steve had seen _two_ monsters in Pepperjack's basement, _talking_ to him.

Which figured; if _anyone_ was going to be teamed up with monsters, it'd be Pepperjack.

But that had left Steve with nowhere to turn but the internet, and that pack of losers. It'd taken some digging to find a forum where people seemed to think monsters were real - had, like, _pictures_ and stuff, instead of a bunch of roleplayers or some shit.

Unfortunately, most of the people on the internet were like Pepperjack - so fascinated they'd probably _join_ the monsters rather than fighting them, like any reasonable person would.

Except for 'N55AOath', the only person who seemed to be concerned about the monsters running around the place. And Steve had sent him a message, and gotten one back, assured him after a couple of days with no attacks that someone had taken care of the monster.

"But where there's one of those monsters, there's more. Gotta be on your guard."

Steve had agonized for a whole day over the next step, or had until he'd seen Pepperjack in PE, reminded that there were people who'd sell out humanity to satisfy their curiosity.

So he'd asked for help. For advice. How to keep monsters out of his town.

And now there was a message from N55AOath.

Steve took a deep breath and clicked on it.

"Be proud of yourself, dude. Not many people who'd wanna help, not just stick their heads in the sand or let these things just take over. You wanna do something? I know a place where they'll teach you everything you need to know to kill monsters.

"They're called the Order of Dawn."


	11. Fearless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To train like a troll, Jim must learn to be fearless like a troll.

Of Jim's many regrets was that he'd discovered the particular unpleasantness of waking up to an owl poking his beak into his ear.

"The _fuck_ , Archimedes!" Jim flailed at the owl, who fluttered away to perch on Jim's desk, before sitting up and glaring. It was _one in the morning_. "Bular better have literally finished his stupid gate to the Darklands, because otherwise I am going to find a recipe for tandoori owl."

"I don't know about _Bular_ , but there _is_ a troll outside."

"What?" Jim clambered out of bed, grabbing the Amulet of Daylight from his bedside table. And then his thoughts caught up with him. "What do you mean, outside? Like, battering down the door or… _where_ outside?"

"In the backyard, _skulking_."

Jim gave the owl a dark look and grabbed a pair of pants, now that it was clear a Gumm-Gumm wasn't going to burst through the window to devour him if he took the time to actually dress. "Any idea who it is?"

" _Who_? It's a _troll_!"

"I wouldn't peg you for the type to say 'they all look alike', _especially_ how different most trolls look from one another."

"What? I'm not - what does it matter _who_ it is?"

Jim rolled his eyes; part of Archimedes seemed lodged in the 1150s, and another part in the 1950s. "Because Draal, say, would want something different from Blinky, or Aaarrrgghh-"

"It is _not_ Aarghaumont. He is a savage, a deceiver, and a brute."

It was too early to argue, so Jim kept his mouth shut while he headed downstairs (his mom was scheduled to be home just after dawn, so he was on his own if this troll needed a pounding). Before heading out, because he had promised his mom _and_ Toby he would try to keep safe, Jim called the Armor of Daylight, and, holding the blade at the ready, stepped outside.

"On your guard, Trollhunter? Good."

Jim swung Daylight toward the voice, interposing it between him and the hulking form of Draal, whose eyes glowed yellow in the darkness.

"What are you doing here?"

Draal huffed, slumping down onto all fours. "When your mother defeated me in combat but refused to kill me, it was an embarrassment. I was not worth even a warrior's death."

"Seriously? That's messed up."

"Yes!" Draal straightened, hands clenched into fists. "I realized your mother saw I might be of use to her. I have been watching you, Jim Lake Jr., and I understand. You are weak, frail, though your mother is strong."

Jim raised his free hand, trying to decide between pointing out it was creepy Draal had been _watching_ him, protesting being called weak, or any of a half dozen other responses.

Draal, though, wasn't finished. "Your mother is a formidable warrior, but cannot protect you all the time. Surely she does not have time to train you, as well. So it was clearly your mother's intent I should do everything in my power to ensure you survive long enough to see Bular's defeat."

"What."

"Now, where is your home's armory?"

With some effort, Jim convinced Draal training this early in the day would attract undue attention, and that it'd be better for everyone for him to stay in Jim's basement. Then he went back to bed.

He woke at seven to a scream and a yelp of pain. Scrambling out of bed, Jim called his armor and sprinted downstairs, where he found his mother threatening Draal with an umbrella.

"Trollhunter! Explain to Dr. Lake I mean you no harm!"

"Yeah, um, Mom? Draal's here to help."

Jim's mom lowered the umbrella, though kept the point aimed at Draal.

"Jim?"

"He's right, Mom. Sort of. He said you kept him alive so he could train me and protect me from Gumm-Gumms and changelings."

"Hm." Jim's mom let the umbrella drop. "Do we need to feed you?"

"No; I found the stores in your basement more than adequate."

"Stores?"

"The strings of wires and glass orbs," Draal explained.

"Our...Christmas decorations?" Jim's mom raised one hand, but let it drop. "No, it's fine. Draal, we really don't need round-the-clock protection-"

"Your enemy called down a stalkling upon the entirety of Arcadia to find your son," Draal growled. "He has threatened to hunt _me_ to the ends of the Earth. He will not be safe until he can face Bular himself."

Jim's mom sighed. "Well, check with a human who lives here before you eat anything, and Archimedes is off limits."

"And your training, Trollhunter, starts this evening."

This being Jim's - _fifth_ trainer (if you counted Archimedes), he had to resist the urge to groan. _Toby_ was excited, though, when Jim told him at lunch.

"Didn't Archimedes say Draal's been fighting bad trolls for _centuries_? He's gotta have _tons_ of stuff to teach you." He poked at his lunch, frowning. "Did this sauce break?"

Jim shrugged; he hadn't been close attention when he'd been making lunch. "He's going to try to teach me to fight like a _troll_. They do this thing where they roll up in a ball - there's no way I'll be able to do _that_. And - well, I guess the armor's like having stone skin. But there's no way I'll be able to do half of what a troll can do."

This was, ultimately, Draal's assessment, although it took roughly a week for him to conclude that. A week of fighting Draal, fighting Toby ("you cannot rely on your companion to protect you," Draal had said), and Jim and Toby fighting Draal.

"You have good reflexes for a fles - a human. But your _instincts_ are _terrible_. Your mother defeated me in _seconds_ , and you and Toby together cannot do so at _all_."

"Hey, I nearly got you!" Toby protested.

"True," Draal agreed, laying his heavy hand on Toby's head. "You have proven a cunning warrior, if not yet to the strength of a full-grown troll. _You_ , though…"

Jim shifted under Draal's gaze, face flushing at his _and_ Toby's attention. It might have been less embarrassing to be failing if it were just Jim, but _Toby_ , who hadn't received any instruction from Archimedes _or_ past Trollhunters (but _had_ , it ended up, been working out), shouldn't have been doing better than him.

"Yeah, well, I only started doing this a couple months ago."

"As did your friend. But where _he_ moves with purpose, with _determination_ , you question yourself. You are _afraid_ of making a _mistake_."

"Of _course_ I am! A mistake can get me killed!"

" **So**? An Eclipse Knight - a _Trollhunter_ \- risks death every moment of every day! If you think of nothing but your death, the fear of it will _drown you_!"

"That's all I can think about! Failing! Dying! That stalkling nearly killed me, and I can't get it out of my head! So unless you've got a way to magically make me _not afraid_ -"

"Okay."

"What?" It took a little energy out of Jim, the sudden deflection from Draal. As was the fact that Draal appeared to be suggesting there _was_ a way to magically make Jim not afraid. Which...he was going to need to look into what magic could and couldn't do so things like this didn't surprise him.

Draal, apparently unaware of Jim's confusion, nodded. "When whelps are fearful of battle, when they cannot learn to kill their fear, the elders give them a _grit-shaka_."

"Grit- _shaka_ ," Toby repeated. "Sounds like a fancy dessert."

Draal glowered at him. "It is not a fancy dessert. It is a totem marked with runes to draw fear away from your heart and bind it so it cannot reach you."

It sounded like exactly what Jim needed, but he hadn't seen or read a single story where magic like that didn't have a downside. "What's the catch?"

"The - oh." Draal shook his head. "No catch. The whelp wears the _grit-shaka_ until they learn to kill their fear on their own."

"Well, why can't Jim just wear it all the time?"

Draal growled, a low rumble in his chest. "To become a great warrior, you must learn to kill your fear. But you must also learn when you _must_ be afraid." He looked to Jim, his gaze fierce, and Jim felt the gaze like a physical force, holding him in place. "There is a fear that settles in your gut, the awareness that you stand on the edge of something great or perilous. That is a fear you can never let die, because without it you do not know what _matters_."

Jim nodded, because there was pretty much nothing he could say in response to that. Except for a nagging concern.

"You said trolls use the _grit-shaka_. Is it safe for humans?"

Draal gave Jim a wide, dangerous grin. "It would be a poor Trollhunter who was afraid to take risks."

Draal took his leave early to retrieve a _grit-shaka_ , leaving Jim and Toby on their own; Jim decided to make a carbonara because he wanted bacon and eggs but refused to eat breakfast for dinner like a savage.

"You know, you don't need weird totems to be a good Trollhunter," Toby offered over the food. "You figured out how to beat the stalkling, got away from Bular _your first night out_ , and whatever your mom's got going on has _got_ to have a genetic component. And wasn't your dad like a-"

"Yeah, I'd prefer I _didn't_ get anything from him," Jim snapped. He stabbed at his spaghetti and sighed. "Sorry."

"Nah. Forgot."

"Is that brute gone?" A flurry of wings heralded the arrival of Archimedes; Jim hurriedly shoved him a small bowl of pasta before he began stealing from Jim's plate.

"We're on the same side," Jim retorted as Archimedes dug into his pasta.

"Just because we and the Eclipse Knights both want Gunmar dead doesn't mean we're on the same side. Angor Rot and Gunmar _both_ warred against the Thule Society, but _neither_ of them are your friend."

Jim shrugged rather than argue. Among other things, Sloane and Tiffany were divided on the subject of Archimedes himself, and Sloane had hinted bitterly at _Trollhunters_ Jim wouldn't want to see awake in his mind. Regardless, Jim was pretty certain however the Eclipse Knights felt about _him_ , Draal was intimidated enough by Jim's _mother_ that Jim could trust the troll with his safety.

"Hey, how about you weigh in here? Draal's got a magic thing that can remove Jim's fear-"

"A _grit-shaka_? Of course the trolls would have hung on to any of those they could find." Archimedes fluffed his wings up. "The Gumm-Gumms used _grit-shaka_ to enter battle without fear of death; their berserkers were said to _eat_ the _grit-shaka_ so the effects would never fade."

"Yeah...I don't think we were planning to eat one," Toby replied. "But we'll definitely add it to the list of 'Things We're Not Letting Jim Do'."

"Wait." Jim twisted around to look at Toby, who wasn't smiling, like he would have expected if Toby were joking. "Is this a real list? Who's _we_?"

Toby snorted. "Who else? Me and your mom got together and made a list, but that list did _not_ , apparently, include 'eating strange artifacts'."

"Hmph." Jim turned back to Archimedes, who could get...nippy if he felt like he was being ignored. "If we're just ignoring my _centuries_ of experience-"

"We're not _ignoring_ you, dude," Toby retorted, "or we wouldn't be asking. Come on - what's the verdict?"

"I don't know. I've never heard of a _human_ using a _grit-shaka_ , but unless the magic is tailored for trolls, it shouldn't be any more dangerous to you than it is to a troll."

"Is it a good idea?"

Archimedes shot Jim a sharp look; he wasn't certain what it was meant to convey, but Archimedes settled a little more easily in front of his bowl. "I couldn't say. I've never _been_ a warrior. If someone who's been fighting Gunmar for _centuries_ says you should do it - even if he _is_ a troll - well, it might be a good idea."

Which, casual racism aside, sounded like an endorsement.

Jim just wished he knew how _he_ felt about it. He had mostly dreamless sleep, which meant he couldn't get any other input before Draal returned with the grit-shaka, a necklace of a tiny fanged mouth holding a gleaming green gem in its jaws. Jim's mom was asleep, leaving him, Draal, and Archimedes alone in the kitchen as Draal presented the artifact to him.

"So, what, do I just wear it?"

"Yes."

Jim decided not to ask what to do if he were scared to put on the grit-shaka.

Besides, it was a terror in his gut, which Draal had said was the _important_ fear.

Jim lifted the strap over his head and slipped the necklace on. "How long until it-"

The question suddenly didn't seem worth worrying about. "Anyway. You want anything to eat, Draal? I've been experimenting with troll food, think I've got something going on."

"I had a raccoon on my way over."

Jim's nose wrinkled, because trolls _did_ eat their meat raw. "You ever think of braising that in, like, a sock stock? Get some acid, bleed some metal into it for flavor?"

Draal narrowed his eyes at Jim. "Are you...okay, Trollhunter?"

"Yeah, fine! You think I can whip up some crêpes for lunch before I have to leave? I've got this idea for a good ham crêpe with béchamel sauce - ah, fuck, you only live once, right?"

Draal was watching Jim closely as he worked, so he decided to keep up a chatter, in case Draal was interested in human cuisine (maybe he _would_ take Jim up on his offer to taste Jim's experimental troll cuisine). After a few minutes of that, Draal cleared his throat.

"Trollhunter?"

"Yeah, big guy?"

There was a long pause, during which Jim started the mustard sauce he'd decided on at the last second.

"You are robbed of your fear, Trollhunter, and you...are _cooking_?"

"Yeah? I was gonna do something easy because I was worried about being late to school, but hey, I might be _dead_ tomorrow, so I thought, _crêpes_!"

Jim finished with a minute to spare, though the sauce _was_ going to be a little runny for dropping right on fresh crêpes. He waved at Toby as he hopped out the front door.

"Hey dude! I got crêpes!"

Toby swung his bike around, eyes fixed on Jim's neck. "Is that...the _grit-shaka_?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah."

"You wanna maybe stick it under your shirt?"

"Why?"

"People might, you know, ask about it."

Jim laughed, and patted Toby's arm, because the dude _worried_ too much. "One thing I know, Tobes, is that if you act like it's not woth worrying about, no one else does. Now, come on. I've got an idea about a new shortcut to school."

Well, he'd had an inkling, but hadn't yet thought about it too much, because, you know, Trollhunting, obsession with his impending death, the whole junk. But everyone kept telling Jim he was good thinking on his feet, so he made use of that. The end verdict was pretty good, though Jim wasn't certain he wanted to always have to put in the concentration necessary to avoid wiping out into the Yus' pool.

Toby seemed to think differently, if the way he panted, " _Never again_ , Jimbo," when they arrived at school, was any indication.

"Hey, yeah, not gonna force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Tobes. Because I love you, you know that?"

"I…" Toby's mouth snapped open once or twice, eyes sort of...unfocused. "Yeah, I did."

"Good. Come here." Toby stepped into Jim's arms with only a moment's hesitation for a brief hug before yes, they had to head in to class. Toby, though, paused at the entrance to the building.

"Are you gonna be okay, Jimbo?"

"Yeah!" Jim patted Toby's shoulder. "Don't _worry_."

And things were fine - _great_. It was so much easier to _focus_ in class than it had been for the last - God, even _before_ the Trollhunting. Getting out of English, Jim saw Claire Nuñez packing up and decided it was time to clear the air.

"Hey, Claire."

She jerked her head up; behind her, near the door, Darci Scott paused, watching Jim. He waved. "Can I talk a second?"

"Sure." She looked over her shoulder and made a shooing motion at Darci, before turning back to Jim. "What is it?"

"I wanted to apologize, again. About the museum. I used to like you a lot, thought you were cute - I mean, i still do, but in that, 'hey, she's cute' way. And I panicked, and wanted to get you out of there, and well. People do stupid stuff when they're scared, right?"

Claire nodded, and something - tension or something - eased from her shoulders. "I - well, it's nice to hear you know you were wrong. And. Well, since we're being honest. I used to - well, we didn't know each other - but I thought you were cute." She took a sudden, quick breath. "If you wanted to take me out someday-"

"I'm flattered. But I have _way_ too much to deal with right now, and, well, I don't know if you're well-equipped to deal with my enemies."

Claire's eyes narrowed. "What kind of teenager has _enemies_?"

But Jim had another class to get to, and he _liked_ Mr. Strickler. "Stay crispy, Nuñez!"

Jim gave Toby a thumbs-up when he sat next to him in history before leaning back to take in...well, honestly, a pretty depressing lesson. Stories about oppression rarely had happy endings, apparently.

"Mr. Lake. If you could stay behind a moment," Mr. Strickler called as class ended. Jim shrugged, waved at Toby to go on ahead, and sat on Mr. Strickler's desk while he waited for the room to clear.

When Mr. Strickler turned back to Jim he paused, staring at Jim for a moment before shrugging and stepping behind his desk.

"Are you doing well, Young Atlas?"

"I am doing _great_. I've been freaking out, Mr. Strickler. Like, a _lot_. But right now? I feel great. No fear."

"No...fear," Mr. Strickler repeated. "I find myself wondering where you came across your...new accessory."

"Dra...ke, a friend of my mom's."

Mr. Strickler, who'd been fiddling with his pen, froze, and when he looked at Jim, his face was...pinched. "A 'friend'?"

"Yeah."

"What… _kind_ of friend?"

"I mean, she doesn't _like_ him very much, but he's keeping an eye on me when she's at work-"

"Ah." Mr. Strickler's gaze flicked back to the grit-shaka. "And he gave you that necklace."

"Well, _lent_."

"Ah!" Mr. Strickler pulled back, a gentler smile on his face. "That should be quite alright, then. If you have any other concerns, Young Atlas, my door is always open to you."

"Awesome." Jim paused at the door, turned to Mr. Strickler. "I know a lot of kids think you're weird, but I think it's cool that you really, you know, _care_ about this stuff."

Mr. Strickler's lips twitched up. "You keep a lot of thoughts to yourself, don't you, Young Atlas?"

Jim shrugged. "Life's too short to keep all that bottled up, wouldn't you agree?"

"I sincerely hope not," Mr. Strickler replied. "But go along. Enjoy the fearlessness of youth."

Toby was waiting just outside, hopping on his feet. "You okay, Jimbo?"

" _Fine_. You gotta calm down, Tobes. _I'm_ not worried."

"Because you're literally incapable of it!" Toby hissed. "What did Mr. Strickler want?"

"Wanted to check in, find out if my mom had a boyfriend." Which. Jim paused, thinking that over before deciding that, yes, he'd read that interaction correctly. "I think he might want to date my mom."

"Um." Toby waved a hand in front of Jim's face. "Jimbo, you sure you're okay? I mean...no fear. I expected you to be, like, getting into fights, jumping off buildings. Not, like… _whatever's_ going on."

Jim grabbed Toby's shoulders so he could be sure he had Toby's attention when he spoke. "Listen. I could die _any day_. Archimedes, Draal, Sloane, they all keep telling me that. But it's not the only thing I'm afraid of. Telling people how I feel, what's going on in my head, is scary, too. And for the first time in my life, _I'm not afraid of that anymore_. This might be my last chance to talk to - any of these people, and I'm not going to let that chance go."

"Get a _room_ , Lake!"

Jim looked up past Toby's shoulder, where Steve Palchuk was making faces at him, and felt the same flare of anger he felt any time he wanted to just tell Steve off. The anger he always set aside for fear of what would happen if he did.

"Sorry, Tobes, I gotta deal with this."

He pushed past Toby and crossed the hall; students stopped or backed away when they realized Jim was heading toward Steve, probably remembering the actual fight they'd gotten into.

"I've wanted to tell you something for a long time, Steve." He reached up and pointed at Steve, who was sneering, but also glanced down at Jim's other hand, uncertain if Jim was going to hit him again. "You're a small-minded, homophobic, elitist, violent little _bully_. I've tried to figure you out for _years_ , and I have yet to come up with a _single_ redeemable quality you might have."

Steve flushed and clenched his fists at his sides. Jim didn't spare them a glance; the worst Steve could do was hit him. "You don't know _what_ you're talking about, Lake. I'm trying to do _good things_ for this town - deal with problems you don't _want_ to think about-"

"You could save the entire fucking _planet_ , Steve, and I wouldn't be able to dredge up a. Single. Iota. Of respect for you, because of how much _worse_ you've made life for the people who have to deal with you _every day_." Jim was aware he was skirting at the edge of something big, words he would normally be hesitant to say.

But _some fear was important_.

Steve sneered. "Big words for a guy who drove his dad to find a _new family_."

That should have made Jim angry. He _knew_ if Steve had said this any other day, Jim would have hit him. The fact that it didn't…

Jim shrugged. "I don't care what you think. I just wanted you to know that you don't impress me. You don't scare me. And there's _nothing_ you can do to make me respect you."

Coach Lawrence let Jim sit out of phys ed later while he held an ice pack against his bruised eye. People were giving him distance - more, he thought, than if he'd hit Steve back. It made people nervous, he thought, to see Jim take a hit without fighting back. It made them wonder what he had planned.

"Um." Jim looked up from his seat; Eli Pepperjack was standing next to him, holding himself close - contained, Jim thought. "Hey."

"Eli. I'm glad you're okay."

"Yeah. Me too," Eli blurted. "I mean. I'm glad _you're_ okay. That, um - but I guess...you're sort of equipped to handle it?"

Jim had been _pretty_ sure Eli had seen him in the Armor of Daylight, but that comment confirmed it. He laughed, though, at Eli's faith. "No. Not at _all_. But hey, it's sort of my job. So call me if anything comes up."

Jim waved when he saw Steve slink into the far end of the gym. Jim not having thrown a punch - something all the witnesses agreed on - was the best decision he’d made. Now Steve was facing, well whatever punishment a quarterback got when a hallway of students could attest he’d attacked someone, if not _unprovoked_ , at least unwarranted.

All in all, a good day, even when he spent two hours getting thrown on his ass by Draal.

Because at the end of it, when Draal reached down to help Jim up, he was smiling.

“You see, Trollhunter?”

“Um, no?”

Draal laughed. “You threw yourself at me, though I am taller, hundreds of pounds heavier, and _far_ more skilled. You are no more skilled than you were yesterday, but you are more _bold_.”

Huh.

“Now, return the _grit-shaka_ , and we can train with this lesson learned.”

“No.”

Draal’s expression darkened into a scowl. “You accepted my tutelage, Trollhunter. That means you are to obey me when it comes to your training.”

" _No_ ," Jim repeated. "I've never felt better than I do today, and that's because I'm not worrying about every little thing."

"I _told_ you wearing the _grit-shaka_ too long was dangerous!"

"Hey, Draal, don't _worry_. I'm _fine_." Jim gave Draal a wide grin, but the troll's scowl deepened.

"You _should_ be worried; the longer you are without fear, the worse it will be when your fear _returns_."

Jim snorted. "I wasn't planning on taking this off _at all_."

"Okay, that is _enough_."

Draal lunged at Jim; having expected this, Jim ducked back and out of the troll's reach. Draal grunted and swung at Jim, forcing him back again.

"Trollhunter, this is not the time to be playing."

"You've got a point." Jim evaded another grab, something he wouldn't have been able to do so easily before he started spending time practicing _not_ getting beat up by a troll. And things were easier _evading_ Draal rather than trying to beat him; he could just keep hopping back, side-stepping, edging away until he could clamber up and over the fence. Draal leapt after him with a snarl, and then it was a chase across town, speed, endurance, and keen nightvision competing against a complete lack of restraint.

A lack of fear made it easy to dismiss the armor while being chased by a full-grown troll. A jaunt through downtown bought Jim some space...and time to think. 

He couldn't run from Draal forever. Well, he might. But he didn't _want_ to. Which meant he was going to have to give up the grit-shaka. He was going to have to go back to being worried about what people thought about him, about getting himself killed, about…

About his mom. And Toby.

"Oh, _fuck_." That's what Draal had meant when he'd talked about _important_ fear. Jim edged to the nearest building and leaned up against the wall for support. Now that he was thinking about it, he _didn't_ feel worried about them. _Toby'd_ been worried about Jim, and he _hadn't even cared_.

There was a noise near Jim, the sort of sound of someone large trying to be quiet. He looked up to see the shape of Draal within the dark alleyway.

"Trollhunter."

"You can call me Jim, you know."

"I didn't." They were quiet a moment. "Are you ready to give up the _grit-shaka_?"

"Yeah." Jim pulled it off.

"Wait-"

Jim came back to himself...some time later, vague memories of twisted dreams, nightmares featuring Steve and Bular ganging up on him. His throat felt raw, eyes dry. He was on the couch in their living room, and Draal was standing over him.

"What-"

"The longer you wear a _grit-shaka_ , the worse it is when you remove it," Draal said. "You forget the quiet fears of living."

"And you...took me home?"

"I could not leave you alone. I agreed to teach you."

"You can just say you like me."

"...Thank you, Jim. For your name."

"No problem." Jim found his eyes heavy, limbs tired. "You think it'll be okay? If I stay in tonight?"

"Yes. You learned enough, today."

"Good. Thanks."

\---

Claire bolted awake at three in the morning with the answer. " **Spider-man**!"

 _That's_ what sort of teenager had enemies.


	12. Michael Scott He Isn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of a secret society bent on the destruction of humanity.

Strickler glowered at Teresa, or, rather, the camera she was holding. "I don't understand the point of this."

"The Killahead Bridge is nearly complete. Ott - Sherman called in saying he found the last piece in an archeological dig in the Phillipines. Lord Gunmar will soon return, but unlike Bular, he has no experience with the surface world."

Oh _lord_ , she was right. Even Bular, who had been living on the surface for _centuries_ , had taken forever to get to understand the absolute _basics_ of interacting with human society. Imagining trying to do the same with Gunmar, who was less patient, gave Strickler a headache.

"So I'm making a video to introduce him to the surface, and to the Janus Order."

"..."

_Technically_ , as leader of the Janus Order, Strickler had the power to put a stop to this. He'd put his foot down over Troll-o-ween, the Vine Olympics, and the Cinnamon Challenge, among other things. But there was a careful balance between how much he cared and how much effort it would take to stop it.

He sighed. "Just keep the disruptions to a minimum." He paused, re-running the last few moments of conversation through his head. "What did you say about… _Sherman_?"

"He's on his way home with the last piece of the Killahead Bridge. Once that's back together-"

"We can open the gateway to the Darklands and free Gunmar, yes," Strickler said. "The ultimate goal of the Janus Order."

"So, Stricklander, what are your plans for when Gunmar walks the surface again?"

"Seriously?" Strickler waved at his desk, which contained dozens of reports from agents in place across the globe. "I _have_ a job to do."

"Come onnnnnnn. We're talking about the culmination of centuries of plotting. Surely you've got _some_ plans!"

Strickler sighed and looked at Teresa, or, as it were, the lens of her camera. "Did we just have a Gopro lying around?"

"Stop avoiding the question!"

" _Fine_. When the Janus order succeeds at its centuries-old quest to return Gunmar, who desires the destruction of all humanity, to the surface, where he will no longer need the service of the Impures who allow him to have a presence in human society…

"I don't know, probably set fire to the Starbucks downtown. Shortchanged me three years ago and _still_ refuse to admit it."

Teresa gave him a thumbs-up before _thankfully_ leaving him alone with his paperwork. It was strange, how many changelings were eager for Gunmar to return, to render themselves useless to him. When his armies ran rampant across the surface, changeling spies would no longer be necessary.

On that note…

Strickler set his notes aside and rose from his desk. If the Killahead bridge was almost ready, this was his last chance to talk to Bular without his father looking over his shoulder.

"Hey, big guy!" There was a changeling Strickler didn't recognize outside his door, hopping to get his attention.

"Go talk to Ioannis," Strickler said.

The changeling, no higher than Strickler's knee, scowled at him. "But I got something important-"

"Then Tennyson in Intelligence. I have important things to do."

There was about a 50 percent chance Bular was in headquarters, but if he was, a 100 percent chance he was in his father's throne room. Strickler knocked at the door before stepping inside.

"My lord?"

There was, in fact, a dark form sprawled across Gunmar's throne, a state of affairs that would not be tolerated when the dark lord returned. Bular scowled at Strickler with a face that was, Strickler felt, ill-suited to smiling.

"Stricklander."

"Hello, my lord."

"...Bular."

"What?"

Bular waved a hand lazily at Strickler. "Call me Bular."

Strickler took a careful breath. "My lord?"

" _Stricklander_ ," Bular growled.

"Bular, then." Strickler stepped up to the throne. "Do you mind me asking what brought about this change in...protocol?"

"We have the last piece of the Killahead Bridge in our possession. And as you have said, with the proper motivation, the Trollhunter will come to us. We will open the way to the Darklands, soon."

Strickler nodded. "So I've heard." There was quiet for a long moment, and Strickler was beginning to wonder if he'd been dismissed.

"My father is not a...sentimental troll." Strickler fumbled for a response that would be appropriately respectful while also conveying the idea that the only sentiment one could ascribe to Gunmar was hateful spite. But it seemed he wasn't expected to participate in this conversation, because Bular was speaking again before Strickler could say anything. "Do you know how many siblings I have, Stricklander?"

"None I have heard of."

"My training began before I could walk. I knew the bite of a blade before I learned to speak, and first took life before I was half-grown. My childhood was...unexceptional, for those born to Gunmar. I know of perhaps a dozen of my siblings who survived to adulthood, but I was the only one who impressed my father. The others…"

"Surely even _he_ is not capable-"

"Of course not. A creature who is not fit to serve him may yet be of some use with the help of the Decimaar Blade."

"Ah." It was quiet again. "I admire your persistence, then, my - Bular."

"Persistence, yes." Bular sighed. "You are not stupid, Stricklander. Those of you that do not prove useful to the war effort-"

"As you say, Bular."

"I wonder, sometimes, what you are planning, Stricklander."

Strickler felt a flare of panic he squashed before it could show on his face. "Planning?"

"You hasten the arrival of my father, who holds no love for you - barely more than the trolls untouched by the Pale Lady's magic do."

"If humanity were to learn of our existence, we would hardly fare better," Strickler retorted. "We are born of trollkind, after all, whether or not our familiars yet live."

"Hm," Bular murmured. "One wonders if you hope to endear yourselves to Gunmar through his son."

Strickler shook his head. "I think we both understand...what sort of creature your father is."

There was a knock at the door, and Bular's expression shifted from his neutral, almost weary one to one of fury. "What is it?"

The tiny changeling poked his head inside. "Ah, sorry, Bular, sir, I've got something to tell-"

"Find someone else!" Bular fell back against the throne with a grunt. He glanced up at Strickler, a tired smile flickering across his face so fast Strickler wasn't certain it had happened. "For what it's worth, Stricklander. You have done much for me - for my father - for _trollkind_. Even for a - that will _not_ be forgotten."

"If you say so," Strickler replied, smoothly. "However, there is still much to be done before the happy day."

"Go on, Stricklander." Bular gave him a wave that could have been dismissive, or could have been permissive. Regardless, he left Bular's presence with a bounce in his step. He considered any interaction with trolls that didn't involve a single repetition of the word 'impure' as a win. 

Because his day had been looking up, when he stepped into the break room, it was to half a dozen changelings watching the microwave from behind an overturned table. Teresa had her camera trained on the device, the sole fact that made Strickler intervene.

"Would anyone care to explain what useful intelligence this will offer Gunmar in his assault on the surface?"

"Microwaves," one of them, whose name escaped Strickler, said, "are dangerous weapons in the wrong hands."

"Which currently involves the staff of our secret society, none of whom will have to prepare a budget for a new microwave."

"Which _will_ include humans, when we start overrunning 'their' territory," Kovacs said. "Fire in the hole!"

Strickler dove behind the table when the microwave turned on. "Did you put _metal_ in there?"

"Worse," Teresa said, grimly. "Grapes." There was a spark, a flash that looked like an arc of electricity, and then the lights in the break room went off. The microwave sat there, smoking gently.

"Kovacs? I expect the lights to be on, and the microwave to be _replaced_ , by the time I get into the office tomorrow."

He slipped outside for fifteen minutes to make an important call, but when he returned there was a strange woman standing outside his office. She was scowling and tapping her foot, an expression and stance he was quite familiar with.

" _Otto_?"

"It's _Susannah_ ," the changeling snapped. "Because 'what's the point of giving me a cover if I refuse to use it'?"

"Mm. Did you want to-"

"Not as if I haven't been going by that name since the _1920s_!" Susannah snarled. "Not as if I haven't been here longer than almost _all_ of these jokers!"

"Would you like to get a cup of-" Strickler paused, remembering the state of the break room, "I've got some scotch in my office."

Susannah, or Otto (Strickler wasn’t certain how much Otto cared about the apparent gender of his primary identity, but the loss of his name was upsetting enough), slipped into Strickler’s office ahead of him with a muttered, “ _Danke_.”

Strickler settled behind his desk once he’d poured them each a glass of scotch, which Otto was sipping at rebelliously. Strickler had heard this particular brand described as tasting like feet, but found the comparison fell flat. The earthy, pungent flavor was, though, not palatable to humans, and the distillery had gone out of business thirty years ago.

“I’ve heard rumors you found the last piece of the Killahead Bridge.”

“Yes,” Otto replied, the smug smile on the face of the pale, wide-faced woman he currently was startling to see anywhere except the face he’d known as Otto’s for decades. “Smuggled it right through Los Angeles.” His smiled slipped into a scowl. “The Order of Dawn’s got agents in Customs, now. The man I met with had a _gaggletack_ \- I had to bug out.”

The Order of Dawn must have had someone in the LAPD, or the news outlets, given Strickler hadn’t heard about this. Bugging out was noticeable - was _meant_ to be noticeable, to give a Polymorph space to escape.

“I’ll look into it.”

“It won’t matter soon,” Otto declared gleefully. “When Gunmar returns-“

“We will need to move cautiously,” Strickler retorted. “This isn’t the fourteenth century - the humans have weapons much more dangerous than cannons. Even Gunmar might pause in the face of an AR-50. And you can be certain the Order of Dawn controls several militias, which they won’t hesitate to expose for the sake of wiping out Gunmar.”

Otto waved a hand dismissively. “But once he is _here_ , the Pale Lady will return, and the sun will go dark.”

Strickler snorted. “You sound like a whelp, believing she will come to save us.”

“I do not believe, Stricklander. I _know_.”

Strickler sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of scotch. “You _Asked_ -“

But of course Otto had. The Janus Order did not, technically, serve Gunmar. Gunmar was a tool, like any other. Not the Order’s tool, but the Pale Lady’s. Baba Yaga. Morgana. Some suggested her names reached further back in time, that the biblical exhortation that ‘you shall not suffer a witch to live’ was made with _her_ in mind. Otto had clearly wished to ensure Gunmar would truly aid their ultimate goal - to return their maker to the surface world.

And while they needed to be cautious now, aware of humanity’s weapons, their armies…

Morgana had no need. A moderately powerful witch could defeat an army. A _truly_ powerful one, one with the cunning of centuries of practice, who had single-handedly brought down _Camelot_ (if the whispers of her true name were correct, possibly had brought down _Atlantis_ )...

Only a mage of the same caliber would have any hope of defeating her.

“We will need the Trollhunter soon,” Otto said, voice smooth, pleasant. “Have you had any luck finding him?”

“There are other concerns,” Strickler murmured. “Draal has allied himself with the Trollhunter - is _training_ him. An Eclipse Knight and the Trollhunter cooperating for the first time in history! And our spies said-“

Strickler paused, because he had hardly believed the report. ‘A human woman, the Trollhunter’s mother, felled Draal without suffering a single blow, spared his life to act as her son’s bodyguard and teacher’. A doctor and a fearsome warrior…Barbara Lake would be quite a catch in troll society.

“Yes?”

“His mother is dangerous herself.” Hadn’t she said her ex-husband a soldier? He’d looked into it discreetly, found redacted and scrubbed records, and no sign of where James Lake had gone after leaving Barbara and Jim.

Otto raised one eyebrow. “A human?”

“Could she defeat Bular? I doubt it. Could she and _Draal_ defeat Bular? Possibly. Could she and Draal and the Trollhunter together do it?”

“I see. Perhaps it is time I perform some reconnaissance. You were, after all, never meant to be a spy.”

Strickler grimaced. The last thing he needed was Otto wandering around the school. Aside from the concern he might actually discover the Trollhunter’s identity, he might decide Elijah Pepperjack was too much of a threat to be allowed to live, Trollhunter or not.

“I doubt we have enough time for you to establish a cover there.”

A knock at the door proved a welcome distraction from the conversation. 

Well, once he saw it was Kovacs, managing to look small despite being half a foot taller than Strickler and possibly twice as broad, less welcome.

“Oh _lord_. What now?”

“So first off, don’t blame Teresa. She stopped the debate about the stopping power of human guns before anyone could raid the armory. And cut off the debate about racial politics by pointing out we plan to destroy _all_ humans, regardless of race, gender, age, or orientation.”

Strickler rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Just...tell me.”

“So, you remember all the diet cola left over from the New Year’s Eve party?”

“...yes…”

“Well, Tian had a pack of Mentos in her purse-“

Strickler felt a rush of relief. “Is that all? Just get a mop-“

“Um.”

“What.”

“Well, then Henri remembered there was a Mythbusters episode about the soda and Mentos thing, and. Um. There were some tricks they said we shouldn’t try at home. And some of us _are_ trained professionals…”

The building shook. A few moments later the fire alarm began blaring.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be in charge of this outfit, Ot - Susannah?”

Otto’s face twisted. “Nein. Should we-“

“Come along. We’d better make sure Bular gets out of here safely. I can’t begin to imagine what Gunmar would do if we got his son killed replicating internet memes.”

The evacuation was relatively painless, although everyone gave Teresa and her little crew a wide berth, whether because they smelled of chemicals and smoke or because everyone else anticipated Strickler’s reaction to this reckless messing about, Strickler couldn’t be sure.

He was making sure Bular hadn’t been hurt when the tiny changeling hopped up to them.

“Hey, Boss-“

“I told you to pass this along to Intelligence-“ Strickler snapped.

“Wasn’t talking to you,” the changeling retorted. Strickler dug around for his name to recall he was a recent member, having replaced a member of one of the Arcadia city council member’s family. The name escaped Strickler, but the changeling clearly hadn’t yet learned to stay out of Bular’s way.

“Look-“

“Let him speak.” Bular leaned down until his head, and, more importantly, teeth, were at the level of the changeling. “I would like to hear what…” He paused, tilting his head. “What is your name, whelp?”

The changeling drew up, indignant, before dropping back down, clearly remembering who he was talking to. “Ri - Enrique, sir. My lord. Er.”

“So, what is so important you must come straight to me, rather than allowing the Janus Order to handle it?”

The changeling straightened, suddenly grinning. “I know who the Trollhunter is.”

Oh, _fuck_.

—-

Steve wasn't _stupid_. He was meeting Mr. Winston, of the Order of Dawn, in a public place, and at his mom's insistence, with her new boyfriend along. As much as he hated having Coach Lawrence hanging around at home, trying to talk to him like he was going to be around longer than any other guy his mom had dated, Steve had to acknowledge that he made an imposing presence when he wanted to.

And when they arrived at the coffee shop, there he was, a man with close-cropped blond hair, wide green eyes, and built like a GI Joe. Steve nudged Coach Lawrence toward the man, and Coach Lawrence just took a moment, staring intently at him.

Coach Lawrence wove his way through the tables and held out a hand. "Winston? I'm Lawrence and this-"

"Must be Steven," Mr. Winston said with a wide grin, shaking Coach Lawrence's hand. He turned and held out his hand to Steve, providing a bone-crushing handshake. "It's a pleasure. Would you like to sit down, or get something to drink?"

"We'll sit."

Steve sat across from Mr. Winston, Coach Lawrence settling next to him.

"So, I understand you wanted to ask a few questions, Lawrence, before letting your, ah, son? Join us."

Coach Lawrence shook his head. "I'm a friend of Steve's mom; she asked me to come along. Now what exactly is this 'Order of Dawn'. It sounds a little-"

Mr. Winston chuckled. "Yes, it _does_ sound a little hokey. It was founded back in the 1950s, and you know how people were about inspirational names back then."

"I took a look at your pamphlet, and there's a lot of kids at shooting ranges."

"Oh! Yes, well, we started out in Nevada, where hunting's a more respectable skill than out here. The Order of Dawn seeks to educate youth on survival skills, social responsibility, that sort of thing."

"Sounds like the Boy Scouts."

"Oh, sure." Mr. Winston nodded. "Our founders, though, always felt the Boy Scouts taught a certain...uncritical patriotism that left boys vulnerable to...inappropriate influences."

"Well, that's, uh, forward-thinking." Coach Lawrence squinted at Mr. Winston, a little frown still on his face. "How many boys in your troop?"

"Twenty from all around the LA area in our chapter. Look, how about I leave you my number, Lawrence, and you can talk to me later?" Mr. Winston passed along a card. "But I think you'll agree that our mission - teaching these boys the importance of working to serve mankind - is a worthwhile one."

"I...suppose so." Coach Lawrence nodded at Steve. "You okay heading home, Steve?"

"Yeah." 

It could have gone a lot worse, he guessed, even if Coach Lawrence hadn't seemed as enthusiastic as Steve had hoped. But then again, Mr. Winston couldn't explain the real purpose of the Order of Dawn to anyone who'd never seen a monster. But in the end, Coach Lawrence seemed hesitantly in favor of Steve joining the Order of Dawn, so exactly how he felt didn't matter, especially since Lawrence wasn't going to be in the picture much longer.


	13. A House Divided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A house divided cannot stand.

"I don't get it! You said Draal is okay with the Trollhunter now, so I could help him out without upsetting Draal or Vendel or - or _anybody_."

"Well, not _anybody_. Angor Rot holds a very dim view of collaborating with humans, so it is safe to say few other Eclipse Knights would approve." 

Elijah rolled his eyes at Blinky. "I didn't mean some weird troll out in the middle of nowhere; I meant nobody _here_. So why can't I help?"

Blinky looked to Aaarrrgghh, aware he looked a little panicked. He'd done some calculations a few weeks ago, determining Elijah was about the age a whelp might start considering apprenticeship, which meant to a troll, he certainly was old enough to join the Eclipse Knights, which was probably old enough to work with the Trollhunter. He was certainly not much younger than the Trollhunter, if he was at all. So Blinky struggled to find the words to explain how the thought of Elijah joining the Trollhunter - his classmate Jim - filled him with panic.

Aaarrrgghh shifted to Elijah's side, laid a hand on his shoulder. "Want to keep Mulder safe. If Trollhunter, teach, protect. If not, keep away. Safe."

Blinky felt a burst of relief, thankfulness, toward Aaarrrgghh, who used one word where five might do, so tried to make those words count. To imagine he was once a Gumm-Gumm, not bound by the Decimaar Blade, but General Aarghaumont, was difficult, when Blinky saw him like this, fiercely defending a loved one's right to live free of violence.

Blinky wondered, some days, by what grace he had become one of those loved ones.

Elijah sighed, but dropped the subject. Blinky, feeling a little guilty, watched Elijah closely until they took their leave, to return to Trollmarket. The boy _had_ borrowed a gaggletack without permission, heedless of the danger to himself, in the interest of _helping_ them. So it was not unthinkable he might be considering reaching out to Jim - the Trollhunter - on his own.

Aaarrrgghh seemed unconcerned, when Blinky mentioned his worries on their way home.

"Mulder _smart_ ," he insisted. It was unfathomably kind, Blinky thought, how Aaarrrgghh would let Blinky practice his English around him, even though he was...slow with the language.

"May I remind you he was nearly kidnapped by a changeling he exposed in public?"

Aaarrrgghh shrugged. "Lots of brains. Less common sense. Good he has you watching out for him."

Blinky couldn't help the flush across his cheeks, hoping Aaarrrgghh, loping ahead of him, didn't notice. Few enough people acknowledged Blinky's intelligence; even _Vendel_ , though, had never suggested Blinky's interest in his affairs was _good_. Aaarrrgghh, he decided, was biased; he never would have been accepted into Heartstone Trollmarket if Blinky hadn't agreed to teach him the history, the philosophy, of the Accords that had made peace between human and troll. If Blinky hadn't been patient with the sullen, quiet Gumm-Gumm who had proved to be _thoughtful_ rather than stupid, who had proven not to be a coward or a traitor but determined, absent of the collective works of troll _and_ human ethicists, despite what Gunmar had taught him since he was a whelp, that genocide was wrong, that murder of a thinking being was abhorrent, and that there was no way to judge what constituted a 'superior' being.

Blinky tried to remember, as Aaarrrgghh drew the door to Trollmarket beneath the bridge of Arcadia, if he had ever told Aaarrrgghh how _impressed_ he was by what Aaarrrgghh had accomplished. Turning his back on _Gunmar_ , seeking refuge among people he had once sought to destroy, submitted to the tutelage and custody of a troll he had once tried to _eat_.

...Blinky hoped if he _had_ expressed his admiration, he had not mentioned that one particular fact. Aaarrrgghh was sensitive even about the generalities of his past; discussing the _details_ was rarely helpful.

Unfortunately, that particular topic had to be set aside, as Blinky was unable to form the words by the time they parted for the evening, Blinky to the room above his (well, his brother's) library and Aaarrrgghh to the basement storage room he'd adapted for Aaarrrgghh's bedroom around...a century and a half ago.

Despite his fatigue, Blinky ended up staying up well past dawn reading the books Elijah had allowed him to borrow most recently. It took about an hour to realize one of them was Elijah's history textbook...although he thought he recalled Elijah mentioning the text didn't get much use. His teacher, Mr. Strickler, apparently had little respect for this particular tome. The book _was_ , admittedly, quite shallow in its treatment of...well, every aspect of human history with which Blinky was familiar.

In the end, Blinky set it aside to return to Elijah the next time Aaarrrgghh and he ventured to the surface and went to sleep.

He slept fitfully, half-remembered dreams waking him with disjointed senses of loss. The third time this happened, Blinky opened his eyes to the sight of Aaarrrgghh looming in his doorway, eyes gleaming in the dark.

He yelped and hurled Elijah's history textbook at Aaarrrgghh, who caught it, squinting at the cover before dropping it (gently) to the side.

"Aaarrrgghh! What are you-"

"Danger," Aaarrrgghh grunted, which shut Blinky up; Aaarrrgghh wasn't prone to over-reaction.

"What-" And then Aaarrrgghh swept Blinky out of his bed, ducked back into the doorway, curled around Blinky. Blinky, shocked by the sudden motion, was about to protest when the room jolted and began shaking wildly. Blinky laughed, relieved, as Aaarrrgghh braced himself against the door frame. Oh, certainly, there was a risk of serious injury if Blinky weren't entirely blanketed by Aaarrrgghh's bulk, but they were no strangers to earthquakes in Trollmarket.

Although it had been a while since they'd had one of _this_ magnitude; the shaking went on for some time, and Blinky heard distant crashes suggesting more than one building had suffered damage from the quake. Aaarrrgghh remained crouched over Blinky for a minute after the shaking stopped before rocking back and reaching down a hand to help Blinky up.

"Blinky okay?"

"Yes, thank you. I've read there are animals that can sense when earthquakes are about to happen, but your nose for trouble seems to put them all to shame. But now that the danger's over, we should see if anyone needs help-"

"Danger not over."

Blinky felt a shiver down his spine. Aaarrrgghh was, as he’d discovered long ago, much more intelligent than his reticence might suggest. And saying he had ‘a nose for trouble’ was an understatement. If Aaarrrgghh thought there was danger, Blinky would stay on guard.

“What sort of-“ Blinky yelped as Aaarrrgghh grabbed him, eased his way through the door to Blinky’s bedroom, and, once outside, tossed Blinky onto his back. He raced along the streets of Trollmarket as Blinky held on, ignoring the cracked and broken buildings, the other trolls digging amongst the rubble, Draal's shout when he saw them, until he reached the crystal stair and the door to the surface.

It didn’t take more than a moment to see something was wrong. The wall which acted as the portal when the Horngazel drew a door on the stone beneath the bridge in Arcadia that sheltered them was cracked, a wide line down the middle that meant at least one side of the link between Trollmarket and the surface was damaged. Blinky wondered if the supports along the bridge, too, might have collapsed.

Until they could repair this, repair the bridge, they were...well, not trapped. The Gyre could take them anywhere. But it effectively cut them off from Arcadia Oaks.

“I think we should call Elijah.”

As miraculous as it was they’d found a phone that got service this deep underground, such miracles were not with them today. The earthquake must have damaged the power lines, or overwhelmed them with frantic calls afterward.

Whichever it was, the outcome was the same. For the foreseeable future, whatever happened in Arcadia Oaks was beyond the reach of the trolls of Heartstone Trollmarket.

—-

When Jim got home, it was to Archimedes fluttering anxiously around the house, and to his mother, who hadn’t been scheduled for a shift, gone.

The latter he expected; the quake had lasted five minutes and had had him expecting the school to collapse on them. He’d seen several sinkholes on the way home, very few buildings that weren’t visibly damaged, and a few that had actually collapsed. The lights weren’t on at home, and their windows were shot, but it wasn’t too bad.

Los Angeles proper, though, probably was not. His mother had left a note, but said nothing he didn’t know. Any doctor who could afford to was heading in to handle the casualties, and the overflow from the hospitals nearest the worst hit areas.

Jim plucked Archimedes out of the air and dropped him in the couch before joining him in a sprawl.

“Calm down. It was an earthquake. One of the downsides of living in California, along with the whole state catching fire every now and again.”

Archimedes glowered up from his cushion before flapping to his perch, where he could frown at eye level. “I know what an earthquake is, Jim. But I also know when powerful magic is at work, and someone caused that earthquake on purpose.” He paused, fluffing his feathers. “Quite an awkward job of it; they used _much_ too much power. The amount you’d use to cause a 9.3 in Iowa, but this is _California_. An _apprentice_ ought to be able to just kickstart a fault line.”

“Wait.” Jim waved at Archimedes, catching his attention and consequently getting him to shut up. “You said someone caused this? Like a - wizard?”

“Well, a dilettante,” Archimedes huffed. “But yes, _some_ kind of sorcerer. Shadow magic, I’d wager. Good at manipulating forces, but not very subtle.”

“Archimedes!” Jim’s heart was skipping a little in anxiety. “When you say someone caused this - who was it?”

“No way of telling. I mean, if there’s a ritual site nearby, we could piece it together from the spell’s signature, but if they just cast, which, yes, it was _definitely_ shadow magic. Someone just wanted a powerful earthquake and just pushed power into the universe until it happened.”

“Archimedes! Is this something I should be dealing with?”

Archimedes gave Jim a level stare before shaking his head. “You are here for one purpose - Trollhunting. The Eclipse Knights are well practiced at fighting wizards. Oh, certainly if Draal asks for your assistance I would recommend considering it, in the interest of maintaining good relations, but. No troll caused this.”

A hammering at the front door made Archimedes hunch down, trying to look like a normal owl. Jim crossed to the door, moving silently, balanced, without any thought to it.

He tugged the door open-

“James Lake Jr.! I was worried sick about you! An earthquake shakes the whole school down, and you’re nowhere to be found! I thought you might have been off hunting, I don’t know - earthquake monsters! Hurt, or worse!”

Jim had never thought of Toby as intimidating. Even with weeks of, yes, he’d confided, going to the gym, and training alongside Jim with Draal, Toby was still Jim’s friend (brother, Jim felt, sometimes, with the way Nana could go on about him and his mom, the way his mom never asked about Toby being over, _ever_ ). Not quite as goofy as he’d used to be, but not _intimidating_.

But Toby had hidden depths, it seemed, quivering in rage on Jim’s doorstep.

Or, well. His eyes were red.

Quivering in fear.

“ _Shit_ , sorry, Tobes.” Jim held his arms open, and was hit by Toby’s lunge, his bulk heavier (denser, more muscular, able to lift a troll broadsword now, even if he couldn’t wield it) than either of them were used to. But Jim didn’t complain as he was forced back, just kept his arms around Toby.

“Ought to stick a tracker on you, like a dog,” Toby muttered into Jim’s chest. Jim laughed, even though he wasn’t certain Toby was joking.

“Hey, you and Nana wanna stay over here a bit? I can see what I can do without power or gas with the food that’s gonna go bad in a few hours anyway?”

“If you think Archimedes can keep his beak shut.”

Archimedes stood up straighter, snapping his beak. “I’ll have you know, I am a master of subterfuge!”

Toby snorted. “Sure. I’ll go get Nana. You mind if the cat comes too?”

It made for a nice afternoon, a calm evening, working their way through melting ice cream, veggie dip and cheese that would go bad before the power came back on.

Most importantly, no problem Jim was expected to deal with. 

At least, until there was a sharp knock at the door a little after sunset. Jim answered it, because Toby and Nana being family or not, this was still his house.

Mr. Strickler stood ramrod straight, arms still at his sides, on the doorstep, smiling gently.

“Mr. Lake. May I come in?”

Something twisted in Jim’s gut. Mr. Strickler talked to Jim at school, went for coffee dates with Jim’s mom (he wasn’t certain if she thought of them as so, but Mr. Strickler’s unease when Jim had first mentioned another adult male in his and his mother’s life had made it clear what Mr. Strickler thought about them). He didn’t come over to their house.

But this was unusual circumstances. Mr. Strickler knew enough about Jim and his mother to suspect Jim would be left alone in a house without power in the aftermath of the earthquake.

“Yeah, come on. We’re out of ice cream, but we’ve still got dip and the celery’s still good.”

“I am quite alright, Mr. Lake.” Mr. Strickler stepped into the house, pausing at the entrance to the living room. “You have company.”

Jim shrugged. “Yeah, I was worried about Toby and Nana on their own, and all our food was going to go bad-“

“And a pet. Which you surely must have mentioned to me at some point,” Mr. Strickler said, eyes fixed on Archimedes.

“Oh man, that’s right, you _haven’t_ met Archimedes! Archimedes, meet Mr. Strickler. Mr. Strickler, meet Archimedes.”

“A delightful creature, I’m sure, Mr. Lake.”

 _Mr. Lake_?

Not Jim. Not Young Atlas.

Mr. Strickler had been _unnaturally_ still; hadn’t been fiddling with his pen (an heirloom), hadn’t accepted a snack or a plate he could tap distractedly as he talked.

Had been _surprised_ to see Toby.

“For the glory of Merlin-“

“I wouldn’t do that, Mr. Lake.” Mr. Strickler (the creature _wearing his face_ ) turned on Jim, smile widening into some smug and sharp, including fangs that could intimidate a troll. His eyes, though, flicked to the amulet Jim had pulled out to don the Armor of Daylight. “If you were to kill me, _terrible_ things might happen to your classmates.”

He suddenly jerked, face shifting from that of Mr. Strickler to one pale, smoothed out, with indistinct features. His eyes went slack and he collapsed to the floor.

Behind him stood Nana, a rusted horseshoe in one hand.

“ _Nana_!” Toby sounded like he wasn’t certain if he was impressed or horrified, and Jim was in full agreement.

“Pesky doppelgängers,” Nana said with a sniff. “One of you tie him up. I’m getting some things from the house.”

When Nana left, they had two options: try to figure out what had just happened or do as Nana said.

“What,” Archimedes said flatly.

Jim decided to tie up the imposter; Toby helped, offering pointers from the six months he had been a Cub Scout.

Nana returned ten minutes later, carrying in addition to her handbag a much larger duffel. She gave an approving sniff at their knot work before setting the duffel down.

“Nana, what the he - heck is going on?”

“This,” Nana said, pointing sharply at the imposter, “is a doppelgänger, a nasty creature that can make themselves look like anything. One of the reasons I keep a gaggletack around.”

“ _One_?” Jim croaked out.

“Well, it’s iron, so good against fairies and some kinds of demons. And the fact that it’s two pounds of wrought iron is good for muggers. Course, you don’t expect to see many doppelgängers outside of the Old Country. Didn’t think they existed.” She gave the - doppelgänger - a narrow glare. Then she wedged the horseshoe - the gaggletack - against the doppelgänger’s wrists under the ropes. And then she stepped forward and slapped their face.

“Ow!” The creature made a weird expression as they lunged at Nana, before letting out a pained howl. “You _witch_! Let me go this instant!”

“Mmm, how about you tell us what you did with nice Mr. Strickler first?”

The doppelgänger chuckled. “Strickler? He is the last of your worries right now. Unless. I don’t think you’re the type to sit idly by while your classmates are eaten by trolls, are you, _Trollhunter_?”

Jim felt that word like a blow. He’d feared this moment for so long, when the Gumm Gumms discovered his identity.

But when he looked over at Toby, at Nana, something in that shock eased; he could take a shallow breath.

He was trained, a bit. Toby had been training, was _strong_. His mother could take on a full grown troll, and Nana could cold-cock doppelgängers.

He wasn’t safe, not by a long shot.

But he wasn’t alone. And that thought filled him with a resolve he hadn’t felt before, and certainly not after learning what wearing the amulet entailed.

“For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command.”

The doppelgänger’s face was strangely indistinct, but the widening of their eyes when Jim raised Daylight was unmistakable. The doppelgänger had never been this close to the Trollhunter’s blade.

“It’s Killahead, isn’t it? They’ve finished it and they want me to give myself up. Alone. Am I right? It’s okay to talk.” Tiffany had touched on this, occasionally. Interrogation wasn’t about torture; it didn’t work and was distasteful. It was about making the subject want to talk to you. 

One way was talking about what you thought you knew. You didn’t have to be 100 percent right. If you were confident in part of it, your listener would be intimidated by what you’d found out on your own. They’d worry about what else you knew.

The doppelgänger laughed. “We wouldn’t trust your promise to come alone. Your race has no honor when your lives are at stake. We have _ensured_ you will come alone. The way to Trollmarket is closed. You cannot call your mother without forcing her to choose between your life and countless others.

“You will go to Killahead, Trollhunter. And you will fight Bular. And you will die.”

—-

Strickler stood before the secret room behind his desk, hand tracing along a set of small charms, items hoarded away over the centuries. The Second Battle of Killahead was nearly _it_ , the end of it all, and yet he was loathe to risk so many of his treasures to it. His hand paused over the wax-sealed glass holding a feather, forever burning with rainbow flames, passed on. He did not take the dagger with an edge that gleamed with the color of dawn, or what looked like a rubber band ball made of black metal.

In the end, he took a small black marble, a ring made of a series of interlocking silver arcs, and what seemed to be a wristwatch. Before donning the watch, however, he flipped the back open and inserted a small blue stone into a depression within the watch’s mechanisms. On Strickler clasping the watch in place, the hands spun until the watch read 12:01. Nearly twelve hours to midnight.

Strickler took a deep breath and let his priorities settle in place, so there would be no confusion that might cause him to hesitate.

Ensuring Gunmar’s return was low on that list.

Ensuring Jim Lake’s survival was substantially higher.

…Damn. He was probably going to have to kill Nomura.

A shame. He’d liked her.

But no one had ever pretended being a changeling would be easy.


	14. Killahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three will come to Killahead to face Bular the Vicious.

It was nearing midnight, the museum empty of human life. The goblins were chattering, excited about the coming battle, but Bular and the changelings he had selected to join him were quiet. Stricklander the assassin and saboteur. Nomura the spy. Each of them deadly in their own right.

"You are certain he will come?" Bular demanded of Stricklander.

The changeling, having abandoned his human guise, shrugged. "I cannot be _certain_. Archimedes is canny, and may be able to convince him three human lives are not worth trading for the future of humanity. But Mr. Lake is...compassionate. It is a predictable motivation that may be exploited."

Trolls would call it a weakness. Bular's _father_ would call it a weakness. But Stricklander was _not_ a troll, not any longer. 'Impure', his father and the Eclipse Knights would both agree. Bular...was not so certain. Changelings were physically weaker than a pure-blooded troll, their natural magic channeled into their shapeshifting ability rather than growing into a creature of unnatural strength and resilience crafted of living stone. But in exchange…

They lived between two worlds. Stricklander had known of the internet, where humans provided, to anyone with the knowledge to access it, their greatest wisdom. Knowledge of their strengths, their weaknesses. Stricklander had knowledge of magic - not a sorcerer, of course, almost unheard of among trolls, but knowledge of runes and artifacts, things he might make use of.

Bular remembered another people who had disdain for those who valued knowledge over strength. Action, _will_ , over reflection, thought.

He did not like the comparison.

"It would do well, Bular, if you would not call me by name," Stricklander said.

"What?" Bular, startled from his thoughts, turned the motion into a practice swing of his blades, but was certain Stricklander saw through the ruse.

"The boy knows Nomura's identity, but not mine."

"What of it? He will die tonight."

Perhaps. I would prefer not to take chances."

"You would suggest I will _lose_? You agreed - without Draal, without his mother, he cannot defeat me!"

Stricklander raised his hand, outspread, placating. "It is unlikely. But not impossible. And if you do not plan for failure, Bular, failure will mean defeat."

Stricklander lacked the ruthlessness to have survived childhood among the Gumm Gumms. As a changeling, he had survived by the wits Bular was only beginning to understand his father _needed_.

What would happen when Gunmar met the Janus Order, where one in a thousand even had the barest of combat ability?

"But that, you say, is unlikely."

"Alone, the boy is not remotely a match for you. And with your backup, and our captives…" Stricklander looked to the side, where three human whelps were bound to the arc of the Killahead bridge. The changeling Enrique waved at him; the human whose brother he had replaced narrowed her eyes at him.

"Good. As long as you do not rely too heavily on the thought we might lose."

"Bular!"

Bular lifted his head, grinning, feeling the battle-spirit rise in him. His father had forbade him to use the grit-shaka, forced him to learn to kill the fear in his soul himself, to embrace the joy of fighting and killing on his own.

On Nomura's insistence, they had torn away the cloths and sheets used to conceal the Killahead Bridge, set it on display. Gunmar would not return to a darkened, dusty corner of the museum, but proudly into the heart of the displays of human history, to mark the end of it.

Still in the deep of night, of course. They were not _stupid_.

So the boy, the Trollhunter, crossed a wide, open hall to meet Bular, flanked by the boy Stricklander had presumed would join him, even in the absence of his more potent allies.

But there was a third boy there, too. Tiny, dark-haired. _Unexpected_. Bular felt a thrill of worry. Not _fear_. But uncertainty. A child that young, that small, could not be a warrior.

But he _could_ be a sorcerer. Half-trained, but if he practiced shadow magic, that mattered less than if he worked light magic. Shadow magic was driven by the will, by the _heart_. It could be deadly even in untrained hands.

"I am glad to meet you again, Trollhunter. Though I lament it will be the last time we meet."

"Let them go," the boy growled, and it was just as Stricklander had promised, down to the concentrated scowl on his face.

Bular laughed. "Surely my messenger told you - they will be free to go as soon as you open the doorway to the Darklands."

"Yeah," the Trollhunter said, "he said something about that once we started grilling him for answers. Had a _lot_ to say about you, Bular." There it was, another thrill of uncertainty. Bular remembered the Trollhunter as a frightened child. He had known the child to be training under Draal, but the child was too relaxed, too confident.

(And there was that tiny worry - did Otto know anything that could hurt Bular? Had he told the child under threat of torture?)

"Then what will it be? Open the way to the Darklands, or watch your friends _devoured_?" The Trollhunter seemed impassive, but the smallest of the three let out a pained gasp, and Bular grinned. Stricklander had been right; they would _not_ allow these girls to die.

"Okay." The Trollhunter raised his hands over his head, one clasped around the Amulet of Daylight, gleaming with poisonous light even in the darkness of the museum. He began walking forward, eyes fixed on Bular. As he stepped away from his friends, the goblins drew closer to them, encircling them as the Trollhunter came before Bular.

Bular, heart surging, delighted at how soon it would be before they were victorious, stepped aside, gestured at the Trollhunter to climb the bridge, to where, set within the Keystone, was the depression that would hold the Amulet of Daylight, allow the Trollhunter to undo the magic that Tiffany the E'er Prepared had worked and free Gunmar from the Darklands.

The boy's gaze snapped to Stricklander and Nomura, guarding their captives on the bridge, once, and Bular knew he was calculating, evaluating, wondering if he could act fast enough to keep them from killing all three of the girls. But Bular was ready, poised to strike the moment the boy tried anything.

And he could see it in the boy's movements, that he was, that at the last moment he intended something...tricky. He was poised at the very apex of the bridge, Amulet of Daylight held next to the depression-

And then Enrique, the tiny changeling who had in a few weeks done what the entirety of the Janus Order had failed to do for months, scrambled up from where he'd clung, upside-down, from _underneath_ the bridge's arch, grabbed the boy's wrist, and slammed the amulet, boy's hand still clenched around it, against the stone.

Violet light flowed along the carvings set within the bridge, blinding as the light grew in strength. Atop the bridge, the boy and Enrique struggled, the changeling herding him away from the Amulet, still set within the bridge, pulsing as it poured its magic into the bridge, reopening the way Merlin's damned champion had closed so long ago.

Bular's eyes were set upon the light filling the arch, the portal opening to reunite him with his father. The chattering of the goblins, meaningless and pointless, didn't register, so when his leg exploded with pain, the terrible calcification of sunstain, he screamed, part from the pain and part the surprise.

The Trollhunter's companions were behind him, the squat one swinging a long truncheon at any goblin that drew near, blood splattering across the floor with the force of his blows. The other, the small, dark one, held an electric lantern, casting light in front of his that _burned_ as it passed across Bular's hand.

Rather than wasting time worrying how they could summon the sun at midnight, Bular howled and drew one of his blades, swinging it at the whelp with the lantern. The boy hopped back with a yelp, but he _was_ no warrior, falling as Bular continued his charge, swinging his sword down.

The other boy with there between then, swinging his truncheon, but low, too low-

Well, too low to intercept Bular's blade, but _not_ too low to strike a blow that sent a pulse of blinding pain up Bular's spine. Enough to send Bular's swing wide, biting into the stone of the floor rather than the child's torso.

Nomura let out a pained screech, which shouldn't have been possible, because the _boy was unarmed_ -

Bular spared a glance backward, where the gate was half-open and _Stricklander_ was fending Nomura away from the boy with two blades drawn from his collar; another was buried in Nomura's shoulder.

"Traitor!" he bellowed. Stricklander didn't even _look_ at him, slicing at Nomura's thigh and hurling another knife at Enrique; the changeling skittered away from the thrown blade, but that took him away from the Trollhunter, who-

Was struggling with the sister of Enrique's familiar, who was fighting to keep him away from the Amulet of Daylight.

…

Had Enrique convinced her to betray her people? He would have to reconsider his dismissal of the little changeling.

One of her friends tackled the Trollhunter before a sudden shift in the weight on Bular's back made him realize _he hadn't been paying attention to the Trollhunter's friends_.

The one who'd struck him had taken Bular's second sword off his back, struggling even to hold it in both hands, but he had _taken Bular's sword_. Bular stabbed at the boy, who swung the sword around just enough to deflect it. Bular snarled; if the boy wanted to play at soldier, Bular would treat him like it. He slammed his blade into the one the boy tried to raise to block him, and drew it up as the boy fell back-

His back spasmed in agonizing pain, sending him to one knee. His skin was blistering, he knew, with sunstain. He spun, caught the arm of the boy who wielded the caged sun, though the light spilling from the lantern burned his wrist, his hand. Bular twisted, hearing the child's bones snap like matchsticks, stomping on the lantern as it fell to the floor. With that child no longer a threat, Bular spun back toward the one who'd disarmed him.

Only for a spike of blazing, searing pain to dance along his left calf. Bular looked down to see a blade buried in his flesh, its edge gleaming with the light of dawn. The dark-haired boy was scrambling, awkwardly, broken arm held against his chest, but Bular, furious that a mere child had so injured him (and where had he laid his fleshy hands on _Creeper's Sun_?), lunged after him, blade held high.

And then the light of the bridge died.

"For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command."

"No!" Bular hurled himself toward the bridge, the boy now clad in Merlin's damned armor. Bular slammed his sword into the boy's chest, sending him rolling into the side of the bridge. "If you will not help me, I will take the amulet from your _corpse_ and use it myself!"

"On it, my lord." Nomura dropped from the bridge, knives held like claws; the boy rolled aside, the blade Daylight appearing in his hand. Stricklander hurled Enrique from the bridge while one of the girls swung a long metal pole into his stomach, and another slammed the heel of her palm into his nose. The third...appeared to be taking pictures.

Bular half-turned, kicking back at the boy with his other blade, injured leg cracking with the impact. The boy, though, wheezed under the force of ribs cracked or broken with the blow, and let Bular's second blade fall from his hands. Bular advanced on the boy, swinging his blade in anticipation of claiming the boy's skull as a trophy.

"If you want to keep your other leg, step _away_ from him."

Bular stopped, turned to the Trollhunter. Nomura was slumped against the bridge, skin unstoned by death, but clearly beyond contributing. Stricklander, perched on the edge of the bridge, snapped his wings out to take flight, and then unbalanced when Enrique leapt onto one of them, scratching and sending them tumbling to the ground.

The boy, though, was standing tall, scowling, Daylight pointed at Bular.

"I will feast on your bones, Trollhunter."

The boy shook his head, smirking. "No." And then leapt at Bular. Bular blocked the first strike, stumbling awkwardly on the limb he would be forced to amputate before the Creeper's Sun made it to his heart, and then swung his sword around, sending the boy falling back to avoid it. Bular grabbed his second sword from the ground and then, properly armed, advanced. Even now, crippled, still aching from the few lucky strikes they'd gotten on him, Bular was too skilled for the boy, forced back with every swing of Bular's swords. The boy's eyes were panicked; clearly, he was realizing the foolishness of engaging Bular one-on-one, a feat few Trollhunters had ever managed.

Bular slammed the boy into the bridge, holding him in place with one arm as he raised his other blade for the killing blow. He relished the expression in the boy's eyes, the panic, the knowledge that he was the last Trollhunter, that his failure would lead to the destruction of all of humanity-

Blue eyes flickered, sharpened to a startling, vibrant green, and Bular saw the hint of motion as the boy twisted the fingers of his free hand through unfamiliar patterns.

Bular's raised sword shattered into three pieces, and in Bular's shock, the boy, eyes blue once again, shoved him back, swung Daylight in a single, gleaming arc, taking off Bular's right hand, the sword within it tumbling to the ground. The boy advanced, expression grim, and there was no doubt in Bular's mind that he would die this night.

Darkness, thick as syrup, suddenly enveloped Bular, blinding him. Shouts around him suggested the darkness filled most, if not all, of the great hall. Something grabbed Bular's good arm, and he felt a sensation like a great hand clenching around his entire form. What followed was an interminable moment absent any sensation, before there was light - electric - and pain, the shock of his poisoned leg passing into the agony of Creeper's Sun. 

"My leg-" Bular growled. He heard a sound, a sheen of metal, the movement of something heavy, a blow three-quarters up his thigh, before the shock and pain at long last sent him into unconsciousness.

He didn't know how long he slept, only that he woke somewhere dark and dank. The room smelled familiar; Bular sniffed once or twice, trying to place the scent.

Then Stricklander stepped into view, wearing his human guise. Bular growled, trying to struggle to his feet, but the loss of two limbs, and the difference in balance, caused him to fall back with a shout before he could tear the traitor limb from limb.

"You _betrayed_ us!"

"Betrayed? Our people owe no allegiance to your father, Bular. We have taken no such oath, only aid him so long as our goals align. Surely you know this, in your heart. If we were his, after all, what need would he have to hold our familiars hostage?"

Stricklander circled Bular, pressing a cloth soaked with a foul-smelling liquid against the stump of Bular's wrist. Bular hissed at the pain, but as Stricklander made no apparent efforts to finish Bular off, did not struggle further.

"Save your tongue," Bular snarled, instead. "You saved the life of the Trollhunter, denied my father his passage into this realm."

"True," Stricklander replied, mild.

" _Why_?"

Stricklander gave Bular a sharp glare, and Bular _flinched_. Stricklander's frown eased, at that. "You are no more eager to stand in your father's shadow than I am, Bular." He paused, as if waiting for a protest; when Bular found himself unable to provide one, Stricklander continued. "But as to the reason...allow me to pose a question in return. What is my true form, Bular?"

Bular opened his mouth, but paused before he spoke. Conversations with Stricklander had always felt fraught, like Stricklander were lecturing him. Teaching him. _Testing_ him. Some days, Stricklander left him feeling angry, frustrated, like he had _failed_ those tests.

Here, short two limbs, half dead from exhaustion and the remnants of the poison in his leg, Bular had a suspicion failure would mean his death.

So what was the answer? What _was_ a changeling's true form? He knew the Polymorph chafed at having lost his favorite shape, and the name that came with it. He knew other changelings who never felt comfortable in their human guise, and others who never allowed themselves to look like a troll if they could help it.

But Stricklander had not asked about them. Had not asked about _changelings_. He had asked about _himself_. And Stricklander, who showed no preference for his form, whose shape Bular could not predict, when he was not otherwise forced to wear one or the other...

"Your true form, Stricklander...is the form you choose to wear."

Stricklander smiled, a small expression that nevertheless looked...proud.

"I had hoped one day you would find the right answer to that question, my lord."

Bular felt a twist of unease in his chest. "Why?"

"Because it means _you_ may prove yourself worthy to be master of the changelings, where your father has fallen _far_ short."

"Master? I thought _you_ were master of the changelings - head of the Janus Order."

Stricklander gave Bular a smile, a gentle, almost indulgent one, as you might give to a foolish whelp you did not wish to chastise. "I am the face of the Janus Order, yes, directing those who are content to be directed. But I also represent what you might call...the _other_ face of the Janus Order. Those who are not content to slave away for a master who will destroy them once they cease to be useful. Those who do not wish to hide their true faces from the world."

There was passion in Stricklander's face, fierceness that allowed distraction from a vital point.

Bular's father was not fit to be master of the changelings. By the nature of the Nursery, master of the changelings must also be master of the Darklands.

Whatever had led Stricklander to save the life of the Trollhunter, he had saved _Bular's_ life because he believed Bular willing and able to kill Gunmar the Black.

Kill his _father_.

\---

Jim glanced up at Toby, the merest glance to avoid looking too closely at the bandages wrapped around his chest. "Are...you okay?"

Toby shrugged. "I'm _alive_ , which is _way_ better than I expected when the three of us went after Bular ourselves."

Jim glanced at the other bed in the room, where Eli was still sleeping; the ride to the hospital had worn him out even _before_ he'd gotten his arm stuck in a cast. "We shouldn't have called Eli."

"Dude, if we went alone, we would have _died_. That UV lantern? Genius. The weird knife he bought off the internet? I don't know _what_ it did, but Bular would've killed me if Eli hadn't stabbed him with it. And if he weren't already half-dead, dude would have taken you _apart_. So if all I have to trade for that is four cracked ribs, a collapsed lung, and Eli in a cast for six weeks, _bring it_."

Jim laughed, wincing when his breath aggravated the ribs his mother had deemed only bruised.

" _You_ okay, dude?"

"Yeah," Jim agreed, glancing back at Eli. "You think _he'll_ be okay?"

"Are you kidding? He _squealed_ when you asked for his help. You made his _day_."

The door slammed opened. Jim was half out of his seat when he saw it was Claire Nuñez; after a moment's thought, he palmed the Amulet of Daylight, because there was a good fifty percent chance she'd been the one to nearly break his shin during the desperate fight on top of the Killahead Bridge. 

She glanced at the amulet, eyes narrowing slightly, before she gave Jim a sheepish smile, stepping into the room. "I...didn't do any permanent damage, did I?"

"I don't know. Did you kick me in the junk, or was that Darci?"

Claire shrugged. "Anyway. Um. I wanted to explain."

"Why you were trying to stop me from saving the world? Because that's what was going on there."

Claire sighed. "Look. You saw that little, um, troll? They kidnapped my baby brother and replaced him with _that_ little monster. The only way I can get him back is getting into the Darklands."

"So you wanted to let a genocidal troll lead his army of man-eating monsters into Arcadia Oaks?"

"Okay, maybe I missed some of the details!" Claire let her hands fall, took a step closer to Jim, and her expression shifted, became softer. _Pleading_. "But I figured that maybe, now that you know the whole story-"

"What the hell?" Claire glanced at Toby, frowning a little. He pointed an accusatory finger at her. "We nearly died keeping that thing _closed_. We're not opening it for _anything_."

Claire narrowed her eyes, glowering at Toby. "Unless I misread this whole 'Trollhunter' thing, _you're_ not the one who gets to decide that. Are you?" She looked back at Jim, eyes wide. "So how about it, Lake?"

If Toby had asked; heck, after the other boy's strong showing, if _Eli_ had asked, Jim might have agreed. But there was so much more at stake than a girl he thought was cute.

"Um. Yeah. Opening that door's not a good idea."

Claire's wide-eyed plea shifted to a wide grin. "Well. As long as we're crystal clear on the subject." She pushed the door open, stepping backward out into the hall. "Just as long as you keep in mind, you ever want my help with your...troll kicking? It comes with a _price_."

Toby waited for a minute after the door closed and then snorted. "Like we'll ever need _her_ help."

Because Eli chose that moment to wake up, requiring some catch-up, they never really got back to that subject. But Toby probably was right; they'd handled this fight in spite of her interference, so the chances they'd need her _help_ were non-existent.

But with Bular gone, Jim wasn't certain _what_ was left for the Trollhunter to do.


	15. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are over. And some are just beginning.

“Aja? Are you hurt?” Krel felt a moment of panic, picking his way through the remains of their ship’s galley, when Aja didn’t respond. It would be typical, that they had escaped the armies of the Cult of the Sleeping God only to die in a crash on a backwater planet in the middle of nowhere.

“Aja?” he repeated, voice going higher in his anxiety. And then he caught sight of a faint glow outside the ship, and hurried out after it. And there was his sister, sitting atop the still-smoking ship, staring up at the sky. “Aja?”

“I can’t even see home,” she said, softly. Krel felt his heart sink; Aja hadn’t cried during their flight from the palace, their desperate escape from the Sleeping God’s fleet, or the interminable journey over. He hadn’t been certain what he would have done if she _did_ cry, and _still_ didn’t know.

“Aja-“

She turned to Krel, and he could see a brightness in her eyes, as if she weren’t so far away from home she couldn’t even pick their sun out among the stars. “I have never seen a night sky other than our own!”

Krel let out a relieved sigh; of _course_ she wouldn’t allow something as trivial as a military coup get her down, not when there was an entire new planet to explore.

On that note…

“We should be in disguise; Ambassador Laira said these people know nothing of other races.”

“To think, we are only the second to make contact with humanity,” Aja sighed.

“I’m more concerned about finding the ambassador. If we’re going to hide from the Cult of the Sleeping God, we’re going to need help.”

—-

“-and then he did something with his hand, and the sword shattered! Is that something I can do?”

Blinky paused in his resorting of his books. He had, apparently, been so involved in repairing the passage to the surface that only now could he get to putting his library back in order. Outside, bulkier trolls, including Aaarrrgghh, were repairing the buildings themselves.

Blinky sniffed at the air before shaking his head.

“Certainly not. Sorcery is not merely a skill; there is a minimum of magical power one must possess before they may attempt even the simplest cantrip. And there is not even a whiff of magic about you.” He tilted his head, frowning. “Nor Master Jim, for that matter. Not enough to do _that_ , at least.”

Eli grinned; he’d been feeling anxious and boxed in lately, with the rest his broken arm demanded, and the week-long grounding his mother had insisted on in light of his (highly edited) nocturnal activities that had led to the broken arm. The only highlight was that by painting Jim as a concerned Good Samaritan, Eli had ensured his mother wouldn’t be concerned if Jim, the Trollhunter, needed Eli’s help again (and why wouldn’t he? Between the UV lamp and the poisoned dagger he’d gotten off an eBay page he _definitely_ needed to leave a glowing review on, Eli had been a _contributor_ to their victory).

Regardless, a mystery felt like just the thing he needed.

“Could the amulet give his special powers? Like Draal’s bracer?”

“Oh, yes. The bracer’s magic is based on the amulet’s, on Merlin's original design. But the stones that grant that power are...well, I’ve never heard of one that would allow Jim to use magic that way.”

A mystery that had Blinky, possibly the smartest person Eli knew, sounded like _just_ the thing Eli needed.

—-

The victory over Bular and the Janus Order had drawn many of the other Trollhunters from their dormancy; the Void was full of laughter and congratulations they offered the Trollhunter.

Sloane, though, was thinking. He’d done that a lot; the others, when they weren’t calling him a coward, mocked him for _overthinking_ things. Of course, they conveniently forgot Sloane was the longest-surviving Trollhunter. Thirty years, and he died not to a troll but influenza (his mother had taught him early not to trust the government’s ‘vaccines’, and save for that final illness, had never been sick a day in his life).

His first thought was that the celebration was premature. With no statue to shatter, Sloane couldn’t believe Bular was dead. That winged changeling he knew from rumor was head of the _Janus Order_ , the organization other Trollhunters naïvely believed to be Gunmar’s servants. Sloane knew better. They had a sinister agenda all their own, and their existence was not bound to Bular's. The Order yet existed, and with that, the threat of evil trolls.

He second thought was about the battle itself.

About what Arthur had done.

Sloane had never known the spirits of Trollhunters could reach out from the Amulet.

That they could, even for an instant, control the _living_ Trollhunter.

A good thing to know.

A _very_ good thing to know.

—-

Otto looked over the assembled changelings. Some two score that worked in the Los Angeles area. A camera that broadcast his words to the _hundreds_ scattered - no, not scattered - placed with exacting precision - across the world. Nomura had been silent on the matter, but Enrique’s imprecise account of the battle had made clear what Otto had come to suspect from his visit to the Trollhunter’s home.

Stricklander had known the Trollhunter’s identity. Had _kept_ it from the Order. From Bular. And now Bular was dead, Nomura compromised ( _had_ been compromised), and the Killahead Bridge still in their possession only by grace of the earthquake the one changeling sorcerer they’d had on hand had summoned keeping the trolls grounded in the days following the battle.

Well, things were going to change now that Otto was in charge.

For one, _no one_ was going to make him look like anything but himself. He was not a doll, to be called whatever his owner fancied. He was _Otto Scarbach_ , Grand Commandant of the Janus Order.

“I regret the circumstances under which I must address you. The loss of Bular is devastating to our plans-“

“Yeah, right. You’re _delighted_ he’s gone.”

Otto froze as something beat at the air behind him, landing heavily on his shoulder. It then croaked, a sharp, mocking sound. He’d never met a changeling who could tell the difference between a normal crow and the creature that now perched on his shoulder, and consequently, no changeling was anything but respectful to any crow they met.

Because where Merlin had Archimedes, his voice and guide to the Trollhunter, Morgana had Raum, the demon-bird, oracle and _her_ voice, when she so felt.

“Hey, all,” the bird said, in a silky voice that Otto had heard was a perfect imitation of the Pale Lady’s. “Good to see all these familiar faces. Now, Otto here’s right. Bular’s gone, Stricklander’s no longer with us. But that doesn’t mean Otto here is taking over.”

Otto felt a flare of anger, hands fisting at his sides rather than reaching up to strangle that _stupid bird_. Hadn’t he been one of the Pale Lady’s _most loyal_ servants? Who would she _dare_ elevate above him?

“Nah, I’ve decided to take a more...hands-on approach. I’ve got an army of shapeshifters holding enough political, economic, and spiritual influence to bring the world to its knees. If I can’t use that to kill one teenager and open a portal to the Darklands, what sort of failure am I?”

Raum croaked, and when he spoke again, it was in the familiar, more masculine tones Otto was used to hearing when he’d been present for Raum’s oracular pronouncements.

“So, now that that’s out of the way, who wants to make a McDonalds run for me?”

—-

This wasn’t treason, Rico reminded himself as he crept through the halls of the Janus Order. There was no actual _rule_ against what he was doing, and he certainly wasn’t acting against the direct wishes of Gunmar, as Stricklander had in allowing Jim Lake to close the door to the Darklands.

In fact, he told himself, if he played this right, he might be able to get Gunmar out _without_ the Killahead Bridge, which would be a real feather in his cap.

Feeling a little more confident, then, Rico continued down along the corridor, though still stealthily; he really didn’t want to explain any part of this, even if it wasn’t technically against the rules. Otto was cracking down hard on any perceived disloyalty, which Raum seemed inclined to allow so long as it kept Otto out of his way.

And then here he was. Rico took a deep breath and stepped into the one door in the place that was never locked.

Raum could open the door _whatever_ lock they put on it, so they’d never bothered.

“Heyyyyyyy, Rico.” Rico froze; only Claire, who’d _given_ him the name (said it _suited_ , like the name had been made _just for him_ ), even _knew_ of it.

But Raum, bird-demon, voice of Morgana, was a prophet. And there he was, upside-down on a pile of pillows set on the dais that dominated his room, along with his treasures - priceless things mixed along with worthless crap he just liked the look of. If Rico wanted to waste the one question any creature might ask Raum and gain an answer guaranteed to be truth, he could ask if that was the _real_ Mona Lisa in the corner.

“Uh, hi. Raum. Sir.”

The crow laughed, sounding like a laugh track from a television show. “Sir, he says. Like you and I aren’t the same.”

Don’t ask, Rico repeated to himself. He was here for the answer to one question, and couldn’t let Raum’s tantalizing hints about secret knowledge he possessed distract him.

“Look, I gotta question. Which you gotta answer if I ask.”

Raum twisted his head around, but didn’t contradict Rico.

So he took one more deep breath. “Where can I find the Skathe-Hrün?”

—-

“Sir?” Kellor, a tiny little thing, barely six feet tall, shifted anxiously in place. “Did you hear what I-“

“Yes,” Angor Rot replied. “I was thinking. Bular dead? At the hands of human children?”

“Including the Trollhunter-“

“Including the Trollhunter,” Angor Rot agreed. “And still...Draal was not there, was he?”

Kellor shook her head vehemently. “But the Trollhunter himself told him.”

And there was that. An Eclipse Knight aiding the Trollhunter. _Teaching_ him. The child had not proven to be an enemy of trollkind, so it was not a betrayal of Draal’s oath. But it was unheard of.

Something strange was going on.

“I believe it is necessary for me to keep a _closer eye_ on Heartstone Trollmarket.”

—-

Hans, Grand Commandant of the Order of Dawn, set aside the letter he’d been reading with a groan. The Thule Society were technically allies, but they were tiresome. They distrusted computers, which is why this letter had been delivered by cuckoo.

And was written in an unbearable code of key phrases and obscure literary references he had no time for.

He might have been tempted to cut all ties with them, but that their Phylacteries were _necessary_ to the Order of Dawn’s fight against darkness.

There was a knock at Hans’ door.

“Come in.”

The door swung open, revealing a perfectly ordinary human. He was certain of this because of the gaggletack he’d repurposed into a door handle.

“Good morning, Commandant.”

“Good morning.” Hans gave the man - still a boy, it looked like - a careful look. He didn’t recognize him, but then, the Order was growing. Even those who had not seen monsters with their own eyes believed fervently in the threat humanity faced. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Thomas, sir. Out of San Francisco.”

“Good. Anyone figure out who caused the earthquake out there? The bookworms in Thule said it was _definitely_ magic.”

Thomas shook his head, but paused. “Not for certain. But something went down in Arcadia Oaks just about the same time. Our...people in the Janus Order confirmed it was the Bridge.”

“ _Fuck_ , Old Gummy isn’t back, is he?”

“No. They’re not certain, but rumor is...Bular’s dead.”

“Ah.” Hans fell back in his seat, some of his panic easing. Old accounts said no manmade weapon could kill Gunmar, and the Thule Society wasn’t clear whether that only referred to the weapons available at the time, or if there wasn’t a weapon humans could make that could kill him.

He felt a grin tugging at his mouth, though. “Bular dead? That’s… _good_ news. The Trollhunter?”

“We think so.”

“Any luck in finding _him_?”

Thomas shook his head. “We’ve only got one man there, and he’s...not an ideal agent.”

Hans hummed in understanding. They’d been forced to relax standards in some areas, a necessary evil, but acceptable so long as the new recruits were watched carefully for any...deviance.

“Still.”

With Bular gone, that left…

Usurna. 

Blungo. 

Gatto. 

Angor Rot. 

Vendel.

And then they could rid the world of those vermin once and for all.


End file.
